


Broken Crowns

by Tainted_Golden



Series: Fractured Hearts and Shattered Minds [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Abused Harry, Abused Harry Potter, Cutting, Dark, Dark Harry Potter, Dumbledore Bashing, Evil Dumbledore, Gen, Good Slytherins, Good Voldemort, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Ship It, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Abuse, It Gets Worse, My First Fanfic, Pre-Slash, Rape, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Bashing, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slytherin Harry Potter, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Vernon Dursley Being an Asshole, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 44,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tainted_Golden/pseuds/Tainted_Golden
Summary: When Harry receives a letter just before his eleventh birthday, he sees it as his chance to finally escape the Dursleys abusive household. Entering Hogwarts, he is sorted into Slytherin, and turns out to be the opposite of what everyone expected him to be. However, the wizarding world holds much more danger than he could have anticipated, and with Dumbledore orchestrating events behind the scenes, it seems that nowhere is truly safe for the boy who lived.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fiction, but I thought it'd be pretty fun to do. I don't quite have the plot figured out yet, but I'll get there. Yes, this is HP/TMR, but that isn't going to be the main focus of the story. So yeah, I hope you enjoy reading this.

It was a dark day when Dumbledore finally fell. The clouds that covered the sky were thick and heavy, the air crisp and cold with anticipation. He should have seen this coming. Yet here he was, brought to his knees by a mere fifteen year old boy. Except, Harry wasn't just some boy. He had fought, battled his way through life even when the fates themselves seemed to be against him. Now here he was, standing proudly, basking in all that his efforts had brought him. Beside him stood the Dark Lord himself, restored to his human form, his hauntingly red eyes shining gleefully. Harry looked at him, and Tom nodded. They didn't need to speak. Tom understood what Harry's questioning look meant.

Harry smiled gratefully, taking his first steps towards Albus. Both of them had plenty reasons to want the man dead, but his actions had cost Harry many things he could never get back. It was only fair that Harry got to deal the last blow.

All of Hogwarts was watching with baited breath as he walked confidently towards the defeated headmaster, his eyes shadowed with undisguised rage. He hated this man. Everyone could see that, as clear as day. Even without his expression, the dark magic that roiled off him in waves told of his deep set loathing.

"Albus Dumbledore." He spoke coolly, his voice deceptively calm. He had waited far too long for this, and couldn't afford to do it anything but perfectly. "Ever since I was born, since the prophecy foretold my future, you have manipulated and twisted my life. You placed me with abusive muggles, kept me ignorant from the magic world, tested my abilities with increasingly dangerous tasks each and every year, and for what? Some sense of control? A perfect weapon to defeat the Dark Lord? You are a fool, and it is by your own foolishness that you have fallen. You made me into the perfect weapon, yes, but I refuse to be controlled for some 'greater good.' It ends now." He raised his wand, levelling it at Dumbledore's head. The man looked up, his blue eyes dull, missing their signature sparkle. Harry grinned, his own eyes filled with a feral light. "Avada Kedavra."


	2. The Horned Serpent

Harry blinked, his eyes scanning the letter again. That couldn't be right. Nobody wrote him letters. Yet there it was, his name clearly marking the envelope. But how did someone know about his cupboard? He shrugged, walking back through towards the kitchen. On the way, he quickly slipped the letter - his letter - under the cupboard door. He gave the other letters to Vernon, quickly glancing at the clock.

He got his chores done in record time, giving Vernon and Petunia no reason to complain. They still did, of course, but only because they enjoyed complaining. By the end of the day, he went to his cupboard unscathed, having successfully dodged every time Dudley decided to trip him, or hit him with his Smeltings stick.

Harry shut the cupboard door securely behind him, shifting around on the lumpy old mattress until he was comfy. A few moments later, he heard the locks on the door slide, signalling that he had been locked in for the night. He waited a while longer for his aunt and uncle to go upstairs, before turning on his light and looking at the letter once more. He could feel excitement curling in the pit of his stomach as he removed the was seal. His eyes greedily took in the words written in green ink on the thick parchment.

 _**'Dear Mr Potter,** _  
_**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'** _

Harry raised an eyebrow. This had to be a joke, right? Magic didn't exist. He skimmed over the rest of the letter, then re-read it twice more. Whoever did this made it look incredibly realistic. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought it was real. But magic? No. There's no such thing. He placed the letter beside him, turning off the light. As he lay in the dark, a feeling of doubt crept up on him. As much as he tried to dislodge it, it refused to leave him.

Turning on the light again, he looked over the letter a final time, looking for any indication on how or where he could reply. What did it mean, _**'** **We await your owl?'**_  Still, he reached for a pen and scrap piece of paper, and quickly scribbled down his answer. He made sure to make it sound formal, but like he was truly excited about going to a wizarding school. He probably would have been, if he believed it to be more than just a prank. Although, something about it made him really want to believe it. Looking his reply over, he nodded, and turned out the light, falling asleep soon after.

•••

Harry woke to the familiar sound of sharp knocking and sliding bolts on his door. Petunia screeched something, but in his tired state, he didn't hear what it was. "Yes, aunt Petunia." He replied drowsily, but it seemed to placate her, as he heard the sound of her footsteps walking towards the kitchen. He sat up, pulling on an oversized, hand-me-down jumper with ugly orange spots and crawling out of his cupboard.

Making breakfast was tiresome, with the Dursleys constantly telling him to get a move on, even when he was going as quickly as possible. He just sighed and tried his hardest to go faster, serving up the bacon, eggs and tea to his relatives.

Once he was finished, he retreated back to his cupboard, not expecting to get any food. He picked up the two letters, and put them inside an old shoulder bag of Dudleys, that had a broken zip, but was still serviceable. He packed as many spare clothes as he could, as well as all the coins he had salvaged over the years, and any pieces of food he had saved. He slung the bag over his shoulder, opening the cupboard quietly and sneaking into the hall.

Checking that no one had seen him, he reached into Petunias jacket pocket, pulling out her purse. He took a twenty pound note, slipping it into his bag. Then he opened the door, shutting it even as he heard Vernon shouting angrily after him, no doubt a spectacular shade of purple on his face. He walked quickly, and only began to run when he heard the door open again and Vernon cursing like a sailor for him to come back.

•••

He didn't stop running until he was well away from Privet Drive. His breathing was harsh, and he trembled slightly from adrenaline. Walking along narrow backstreets for the most part, he gradually made his was further into the city. Eventually, he came to an odd looking store. It was a pet shop, but not like any he had ever seen before. Well, sure, he hadn't seen many, but this one definitely didn't look normal. Curious, he pushed open the door.

There were many different creatures he had never seen before, from something called a kneazle to various arachnids. He walked through the store, seeing many different owls as he did so. Maybe they took your letter? It was worth a shot. What did he have to lose?

"Excuse me, sir." He addressed the man behind the counter.

"Yeah? What is it, kid?" The man raised an eyebrow at him. He was a little alarmed at the appearance of the boys clothes. They were really little more than oversized rags.

"Is this-" Harry licked his lips nervously, "Is this, by any chance, a magical shop?"

"Yeah, it is. So I'm guessing you're a muggleborn, then?"

"A what?" Harry was pleased to have found proof of magic, but was confused enough that he chanced another question.

"Muggleborn. It means you have non magic parents."

"Yeah, I am." He nodded. "I got a letter to Hogwarts, but I don't know how to send a reply."

"Didn't they send a teacher to show you?" He was surprised; normally muggleborns would be shown into the magical world by a teacher, so they knew where to go, what to get, and how to get it. His concerns about this kid were growing by the second.

Harry shook his head a negative this time. Seeing the alarm on the mans face, he quickly added, "My parents are waiting for me outside, so they could take me to get all this stuff."

"Ah, ok. Well, I can give you a map to the Leaky Cauldron, and you can ask someone there to open Diagon Alley for you, ok, kid?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." He smiled, glad the man didn't suspect his lie.

"Just a minute, then." He walked through a door labelled 'Staff Only,' presumably to get the offered map.

Harry, meanwhile, looked around the store, his eyes almost instantly drawn to a tank containing a small black snake. It was looking at him with dark, glittering eyes that spoke of unnatural intelligence. He walked over to it, keeping eye contact. As he got closer, he noticed that it was not, in fact, pure black, but rather it had a deep crimson underbelly, and a smattering of red scales on the top of it's body, especially around the head. It was around a metre long, but slim, with a triangular shaped head raised up out of its smooth coils to stare at him. Little horns grew out of the sides of its head, and a trail of spikes went down its spine.

 _"Beautiful."_ He whispered in awe. The snake hissed slightly, appearing pleased.

 _"Thanksss, ssspeaker."_ The snake practically purred.

 _"Can all sssnakesss ssspeak?"_ Harry asked, tiling his head to the side.

The snake hissed again, and it almost sounded like laughter. _"Yesss, child. But not all humansss can ssspeak our language."_

 _"Ssso I'm ssspeaking a different language right now?"_ Harry frowned in confusion; it sounded like English to him, although, he had been speaking in a very hissy sounding way.

The snake nodded its arrow-shaped head, its onyx eyes sparkling like cut gemstones.

 _"Oh."_ Harry was a little confused still, but he supposed it was just magic. _"I'm Harry, by the way. What'sss your name?"_

_"I don't have a name, little hatchling. Sssnakesss don't need namesss."_

Harry thought on this for a moment. _"Can I give you a name?"_ He hissed.

 _"Only if I like it."_ The snake agreed.

Harry opened his mouth, then paused for a second. _"Are you male or female?"_ He asked, not wanting to get it wrong.

_"I am a male, Harry-ssspeaker."_

Harry nodded, he had thought so. _"What about Jormungand?"_

The snake hissed, pleased. _"Yesss, I like that name."_

Harry heard footsteps, and turned to see the shopkeeper was back. He looked back at the newly named Jormungand. _"Would you like to come with me?"_ He hissed. Had he looked behind him, he would have seen the man pale slightly.

Jormungand nodded his horned head. _"It getsss awfully boring here."_

"Uh... you can speak to snakes, kid?" The shopkeeper had made his way over, holding the map slightly too hard, causing it to crinkle.

"Yeah." Harry spoke, smiling slightly. "Can I buy him?" He asked pointing to the horned serpent.

"I don't know, kid... he's got really strong venom. He's a rare type of magical snake, and since he isn't purebred, he could be unpredictable. Hell, I'm almost certain there was a basilisk in his ancestry some time around a thousand years ago."

"But I can speak to him. And he already let me name him Jormungand."

"If you're sure, I suppose. But only because you're a parselmouth." Seeing Harry's confused expression, he elaborated. "That's what we call people who can speak to snakes. I am going to give you his anti venom, just in case he bites you." He went over to a shelf in the back of the store, picking up the bottle he always kept handy. "Your parents will be ok with this, right?" He said, pausing to look at the boy who was still speaking to the snake.

"Yeah, they'll be fine with it. My dad had a pet snake when he was younger." He lied smoothly.

"Alright." Giving the kid the anti venom, he waved him off when he tried to pay for it. "Nah, kid. Normally I would make you pay, but since you have obviously bonded with him, you can have him for free."

Harry's face lit up with joy. "Thank you, sir!" He grinned brightly, holding the snake carefully in his arms, until it slithered into his pocket. He turned and walked to the door. Just before he left, the man called out to him.

"I never caught your name, kid."

"It's Harry. Harry Potter." Harry walked happily out of the store, leaving a shell shocked shopkeeper. He realized two things after a few moments. One- Harry Potter was a parselmouth, and two- there was no way he was here with his parents. He rushed to the door, stepping out and looking around in every direction. But it was too late. The boy was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jormungand is a giant serpent from Norse mythology. The 'J' is pronounced like a 'Y'. He's also known as the Midgard Serpent.


	3. The Wandsmith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has literally one swear in it, but it is there, just so you know.

Harry had more than a little difficulty reading the map. He hadn't ever needed to use one for anything. On top of that, he was more than a little hesitant to ask for help. Most of the people walking up and down the dull grey streets were probably non-magical people. What had the shopkeeper called him? A muggleborn? Were people without magic called muggles, then? He shrugged, refocusing his attention on the map. Luckily for him, the man in the shop had also written down a set of instructions and a description of what he was looking for. It took a few moments, but he soon figured out where to go. He walked down the street to a bus stop, where he sat on a cold metal bench. Shivering, he wished it could have been a warmer day that he chose to run away.

By the time the bus arrived, his teeth were chattering, and Jormungand was loudly hissing complaints from his pocket. Shushing him, Harry stood up as the bus door opened. Licking his lips, he shakily asked if the bus went to Charing Cross. It did, and he sighed in relief as he sat in the warmth after paying his fare. It would be an hour and a half journey, so he settled down and talked quietly with Jormungand. He didn't know what time it was, but it had been around nine when he left the house, and he'd spent around an hour at the shop, so he'd estimate quarter past ten.  
  
He asked Jormungand question after question about all things magical; _"Do people really ussse ssspellsss?"_ and _"What do wandsss look like?"_ The snake answered with varying detail, happy to indulge in the boys endless curiosity. It was good that his human was curious; he wouldn't want to be stuck with an idiot, after all. Harry asked many insightful and well thought out questions, along with just a few more bland ones. That was ok, though. He was only a kid, he would become more interesting as he grew.

Harry's stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't had a chance to sneak some food today. Reaching into the shoulder bag he had with him, he pulled out an apple. It was a bit bruised, but otherwise entirely edible. He savoured the juicy fruit; it wasn't often he got a chance to eat it.

He spent the rest of the bus ride staring absently out the window, watching the houses rush by and listening to the cacophony of noises from the busy London streets. When they got to Charing Cross, he stepped out quickly, his head bowed. He felt a slight panic at the sheer number of people surrounding him. He clenched his fist and tried to breathe normally, while all the tall, potentially dangerous people continued about their days. After a moment, Jormungand hissed quietly to him in comfort.

_"It's ok, Harry-ssspeaker. If any of the try to hurt you, I'll bite them."_ The black serpent said, a hint of a growl and a touch of concern colouring his voice. Harry smiled, petting the snakes slightly curved horns.

_"Thanksss, Jormungand, but it'sss ok. You don't need to bite them."_ Harry whispered. He felt much better knowing the serpent, who he had only known for a day, was there with him, and willing to help him. With renewed purpose, he looked at the map once more. It described a certain part of the street, indicating landmarks to help him get there. He began walking, his eyes darting in curiosity and more than a little fear, having plunged himself into a new place, and a world he knew nothing about.

_"The Leaky Cauldron hasss a sssign outssside with a picture of a cauldron on it, like thisss."_ Harry read the words quietly to his snake, looking down the street to see if any signs matched the one drawn on the map. He quickly spotted it, hanging above an odd looking establishment. He walked quickly over to it slipping inside in silence.

The inside of the pub was a little smokey, the lights a little dim. The people were all dressed in weirdly fashioned robes, pointed hats, and long, colourful cloaks. Harry felt instantly out of place in his oversized muggle jumpers and trousers. Here he was- amongst wizards and witches. It felt impossible, fantastical, and he was terrified. He tried- no. He refused to let it show as he walked up to the bar. The name inked on his map was "Tom." Standing on tip toes, he cleared his throat slightly to try and get the man's attention.

"Excuse me? Tom?" He said with uncertainty. The man looked over to see a short boy with raven hair looking shyly up at him.

"Yeah, that'd be me. What is it, kid?"

Harry gulped up at the bald old man, replying quickly and in a soft voice. "I was wondering if you could maybe help me get into Diagon Alley?"

Tom nodded, beckoning Harry towards a door. Harry followed a few metres behind, unwilling to get too close. They entered a small, stone-walled courtyard. Harry was instantly on edge. There was no entrance here. His mind instantly went into overdrive, thinking of all the reasons he could have been lead here. None of them were even remotely positive. He backed up a step, on the verge of making a hasty escape.

_"Wait."_ Jormungand spoke calmly. The snake had his head out of Harry's pocket, looking up at him with glittering dark orbs. Harry nodded shakily, the serpent's lack of fear clearing his head a little. Hearing a sound from the direction of Tom, he snapped his head up, seeing the wall part before the man, who held a long wooden stick. 'That must be what a wand looks like.' He thought, his hunger for knowledge almost overcoming his unease.

"There you go, kid." Tom spoke, "Take care."

"Thank you, sir." Harry said respectfully. Tom chuckled at the title, shaking his head in amusement, and waving Harry away.

Harry stepped through the wall, which slid back into place once he had passed it. He took a sharp intake of breath once he saw just how incredible Diagon Alley was. It was narrow, with people on foot walking through a bustling market, selling everything from boomslang skin to dragon hide boots. Stores advertised themselves as bookshops and apothecaries, robe stores and - most interestingly - a single wand shop, by the name of Ollivander's.

Harry made a beeline for the shop, opening the heavy wooden door and walking into the dusty, old store. He walked to the counter, looking around curiously at piles upon piles of boxes, all a little bigger than a glasses case. He was so busy staring in wonder that when he heard a loud sliding noise, he almost jumped right out of his skin, shivering frightfully, his heart beat like thunder as he looked at the old man who had just appeared on a sliding ladder.

Jormungand reacted quickly, sliding quickly out of Harry's pocket, and up his jumper to drape around his neck, heart-shaped head poised to strike and hissing out colourful swears dangerously. Harry clutched the snake's tail desperately, his eyes focused solely on the man, whom he assumed was Mr. Ollivander.

"Harry Potter." The man said. Harry shrunk back, how did he know his name? "I'm sorry for alarming you; it was never my intention." Ollivander continued.

"H- how..." Harry gulped. He sounded so fucking scared. "How do you know my name?" He said in a bolder voice, not letting himself stutter. He refused to be that small, frightened boy anymore. He would make himself into someone different- someone better. Someone stronger, and braver, and cleverer, and more powerful. He stroked Jormungand, trying to look calm. At least it made the serpent less agitated.

"Why, Mr. Potter. Everyone knows your name." Ollivander raised a single silvery eyebrow, as if contemplating why Harry was even asking.

"Excuse me?" Harry's face scrunched in confusion; how could everyone know his name? He was just Harry. Just plain, ordinary, Harry.

"You don't know?" It was Ollivander's turn to frown in disbelief. He shook his head, truly baffled by Harry not knowing his own legacy. "It's because you're the Boy-Who-Lived. You had an encounter with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and survived."

"Sorry, with who?"

"We dare not speak his name, Mr. Potter. He did terrible, terrible things. Yet he was great, so very great, and incredibly powerful."

"Could you... write his name down, or something."

Ollivander seemed to consider this for a moment, before pulling out a scrap of parchment and a quill, and scratching down something quickly. He paused for a moment, before passing it to Harry. Harry took the scribbled name, blinking before looking up at Ollivander.

"Voldemort?"

"Shh!" Ollivander looked around in apparent fear. "Don't say his name." He whispered urgently.

"He's dead though, right? Why are you so afraid?" Harry tried to puzzle it out, unable to understand how anyone could be so utterly terrified of a simple word.

Ollivander shook his head, unwilling to answer. There was a pause in their conversation, before the white-haired wandsmith eventually broke the awkward silence. "So, I'm assuming you're here for your wand?"

"Yes." Harry let out the breath he was unconsciously holding, glad for the change in conversation.

The wizened old wizard nodded curtly, moving at frankly alarming speed on the ladder he had slid over on. He produced a box from the far reaches of the store, bringing it forward for Harry to try. Harry held it, looking up at the wandmaker in question.

"Well, go on. Give it a wave." Ollivander instructed. Harry quickly complied, only to have the wand snatched from his hand a second later. Another was soon brought to replace it, but that too was grabbed back from him within just a few seconds. It continued like that for wand after wand, the shopkeeper getting increasingly excited at each failed attempt. Eventually, he brought out a dark-coloured wand, with ornate detailing around the handle, and a thin, smooth end.

"Blackthorn and Dragon Heartstring, 14 inches, quite swishy." Ollivander spoke, handing Harry the wand with a look of curiosity on his face. As soon as Harry touched it, he knew it was the right one. He could feel warmth spreading down his arm, the tingling sensation sending shivers down his spine.

"Curious. Quite curious." Ollivander mused.

"What's curious?"

"Well, I wasn't expecting you to bond with that wand. In fact, I was quite sure you would pair with another." Ollivander moved into the most shadowy, dusty corner of the room, returning with yet another box. He carefully opened it, exposing another wand. "Holly and Phoenix Feather, 11 inches, nice and supple." Harry picked it up, and felt the same rush of rightness as he had with the other wand, that he still held firmly in his other hand.

"Now this is a surprise!" Ollivander exclaimed, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "It's not often that I get to pair a wizard with two wands. We can expect great things out of you, Mr. Potter. That much is certain."

Harry left the shop with his two wands, after paying the equivalent of twelve galleons in pounds for both of them. It left him with almost no money, but Ollivander had assured him that the Potters were an old and prestigious house, and he would have plenty of money at the Gringotts Bank. Harry, following the old wizard's advice, headed towards the large, white marble building at the end of Diagon Alley, hissing his plans to Jormungand, who was still safely coiled up in his pocket. For the first time in a very, very long time, Harry thought that maybe - just maybe - everything was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent so long looking up the meanings of different wand woods, cores, lengths, and flexibility. I found all the info about them on Pottermore, but yeah. I chose that wand in particular for a reason.


	4. The Inheritance

_**"Enter, stranger, but take heed** _  
_**Of what awaits the sin of greed** _  
_**For those who take, but do not earn,** _  
_**Must pay most dearly in their turn.** _  
_**So if you seek beneath our floors** _  
_**A treasure that was never yours,** _  
_**Thief, you have been warned, beware** _  
_**Of finding more than treasure there."** _

Harry tilted his head curiously at the words engraved into the side of the bank. The poem was quite effective, he concluded, after a moment. A very eloquent way of warding off thieves. He nodded to the goblin standing at the door on his way in; nobody had ever held a door for him before, and he felt very grateful that he hadn't been tasked with trying to swing the massive doors himself. Jormungand, draped around his shoulders, chatted away about the proper goblin etiquette, chastising his apparently appalling manners. Harry rolled his eyes, promising to work on it.

The bank was bustling with people, lines of them at each desk where goblins sat looking on boredly, while others led around their customers through many passages. Harry was sure, should he try to navigate them, he would get hopelessly lost.

He slipped in line behind a wizard in line green robes, twisting this way and that at the slightest movement, purely out of habit. When he finally reached the desk, he was greeted by a goblin with a crooked nose that appeared typical of his species. A gold-plated plaque named him as **_"Griphook."_**

"Yes?" The goblin said in an entirely uninterested voice.

"Um, I was just wondering if I had any accounts to my name."

"What is your name?" The goblin drawled, raising a single, bushy eyebrow.

"Harry. Harry Potter." As soon as the words left his mouth, the people behind him burst into excited whispers. Soon enough, it spread, and he heard his name passed around the room like an echo. Nervousness took over, and he clenched his hands together tightly, his nails drawing thin red grooves into his pale flesh. Jormungand raised his head and hissed loudly, not pronouncing any words, but rather warning off the curious people, a fact Harry was rather thankful for, as all the stares were unsettling, especially after a life spent avoiding attention like the plague.

The goblin put his quill back in its pot of ink, a slightly irritated look on his face. "Perhaps you'd like to take this somewhere more private, Mr, Potter?" Griphook suggested, standing as an invitation to follow him.

"Yes, thank you." Harry rushed over the words, barely making them loud enough to hear. He followed the goblin as he walked confidently towards a passage off the main reception area. He opened a door, letting them both into a modesty furnished office. Griphook sat behind a desk, gesturing Harry to a seat opposite. Harry compiled, not able to resist fingering his Blackthorn wand, still very much on edge.

"You wished to speak of your accounts?" Griphook drew him from his thoughts, thankfully not mentioning his itching to draw his wands.

"Yes, please. I was at Ollivander's and he told me I had quite a bit of money in my family."

"Surely you knew that before, though?"

"No," Harry shook his head, "I didn't know of the wizarding world until today, in fact. It's all a bit shocking."

Griphook rose his eyebrow again. "How is it that you were ignorant of your own world for your entire childhood?" Disbelief was laced through his voice. Harry just shrugged and looked down, not at all willing to share the events of his so-called "childhood." Not that he had much of one.

"I'm afraid Albus Dumbledore has control over the Potter accounts." Seeing Harry's blank face, he elaborated. "Dumbledore is the headmaster of Hogwarts, one of the few magic schools in all of Britain. He has a lot of power over the Wizarding World. It would be near impossible to get the accounts back without his knowing." Harry nodded, not pleased, but understanding the situation.

"If you wished, I could give you an inheritance test. It will show if you can claim inheritance on other families wealth, due to your bloodline." Harry nodded again; perhaps he could gain access to money after all. "All that's required is for you to let a drop of blood fall upon a specially enchanted parchment," Griphook explained, getting out the parchment in question and a small silver dagger. "It will reveal all significant bloodlines in your family tree, as well as a complete list of the vaults, their contents, and any properties that you have inherited."

Harry took the knife carefully. It was beautifully crafted, for something so dangerous. He brought it to the top of his index finger, pushing slightly on the handle. The blade cut a slit in his flesh with alarming ease. Harry let the blood drip onto the thick, cream-coloured parchment. It was instantly soaked up, before it reappeared, drawing exact crimson lines across the page. It began to form a family tree, with Harry at the bottom. It was surprisingly large; Harry had never thought he was related to so many old families.

On one side, a list wrote itself in cursive script. It read;

_**"Harry James Potter** _

_**Heir to the noble houses-** _  
_**Potter** _  
_**Black** _

_**Heir to the most noble and ancient houses-** _  
**_Slytherin_**  
_**Peverell** _

_**Monies-** _

_**..."** _

The list went on, showing dizzying amounts of money, far too much for Harry to truly comprehend, along with countless books, precious heirlooms, and many beautiful properties. Harry was shell shocked. All this time, he had been rich, yet he was for some reason made to sleep in a cupboard, and act as the Dursley's slave. He was angered, to the point the desk in front of him shook as his magic rattled through it. After a moment, and much coaxing from Jormungand, he calmed down.

Indeed, Griphook also seemed rather surprised. "That's quite the ancestry you have there, Mr. Potter." Was his only obvious reaction, although he was truly impressed by the boy's rich bloodline.

"Thank you, Mr. Griphook, He said sincerely, "if I could thank you in the proper way, I would, but I'm afraid I know little of goblins." Griphook grinned wolfishly in reply.

"Would you like some money from one of these accounts?" He simply asked.

"Yes, whichever one would draw the least attention should someone discover my having it."

Griphook nodded. "Very Slytherin of you, Mr. Potter." He grinned again, leading Harry out of the office.

They walked to a mine shaft of sorts, a rail and a metal cart with seats that didn't look awfully safe greeting them. The ride down the shaft seemed just as perilous, but Harry found it quite exhilarating. They stopped at a vault with the number _**"742"**_ written in bold lettering on its door.

"This is the Black family vault," Griphook explained, "it wouldn't seem strange for you to have access to it."

"Thank you, Griphook." Harry watched in awe as the massive metal door swung open, revealing a room piled wall to wall with gold, silver, and bronze coins, books stacked wobbling amongst the treasure. Many other artefacts filled every corner of the room, leaving Harry lost for words that this was his. All his. Nobody could take this from him.

"For a small fee, I could also supply a bag that has expansion and featherweight charms." Griphook interrupted his wonder, before explaining exactly what the charms did. Harry accepted the bag, filling it with around fifty Galleons, twenty Sickles, and a handful of Knuts. Feeling much more prepared, he thanked Griphook once more before heading out into the sunlight, having to shield his eyes at how bright it was compared to the dark underground vaults. Grinning, he stroked Jormungand's tail idly. It was time to brave the wizarding world, in all its mystery, wonder and danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that Sirius had a separate vault from that of the Black family in general, and since Siri is alive at the moment, he has yet to inherit it.


	5. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting for ages, I honestly kind of forgot about this... However, I have not abandoned it, and I will be posting more.
> 
> Also, warning for this chapter- there is mention of eating disorders.

Harry spent the rest of the day shopping for the various items on his list. It took a while for him to work out where to find them all, but in the end he only had clothes left to get. He had been dreading this. He knew that his body was far from healthy - his ribs clearly visible through his bruised skin, bones that never set properly making awkward angles - so to be measured for clothing was a nightmare. His oversized hand-me-downs had always hidden now thin he was, and the scars that littered his arms and back. Especially the back.

There wasn't much he could do about to it. He'd just have to read the situation when he was being measured, and try and divert attention away from his appearance. Remembering the pet shop, where he had lied about his parents, he thought perhaps he could do the same here - pretend his family was poor, and couldn't afford food. Shaking his head, Harry berated himself for his oversight. He wanted to get good quality clothing, and robes to wear out of school. His mind ran through a few other scenarios, but they all had significant holes in them, and would never work. Finally, he thought to ask Jormungand.

_"Jormungand, do you have any ideassss on how I'm going to get clothesss without causing ssssuspicion?"_

_"What do you mean, little hatchling?"_

Oh, of course! Harry had forgotten to tell the snake about the Dursleys treatment of him. He explained briefly, not going into detail, although it didn't stop Jormungand from hissing in rage at some parts. In any case, he got the gist.

_"What if you tell them you haven't been eating? What do humanssss call it? An 'eating disorder'?"_

Harry contemplated his suggestion. It seemed like a reasonable idea, although it would still cause some concern. He could say he's recovering, and is getting much better. That way, he could probably get clothes that were slightly too big for him, that he would grow into as he got a steady source of food for once. He nodded. He could think of no better alternative.

He walked up to Madam Malkins with feigned confidence. He opened the door, a bell jangling upon his entrance. He glanced around, eyes darting with curiosity and apprehension. There was one other boy in the shop, a blond standing on a foot stool, with a witch pinning his robes to the right length.

A short woman came up to Harry, smiling kindly. "Hogwarts, dear?" She asked.

"U-Um, yeah." He replied awkwardly, as she motioned him up onto a stool next to the other boy.

"Hello," the blond said, and it took a moment for Harry to realise that he was addressing him. "You're going to Hogwarts too, then. What house do you reckon you'll be in?"

Before Harry could answer, a long robe was pulled over his head. He jumped, surprised by the sudden movement. Jormungand reacted to his fear by hissing out a stream of words Harry didn't understand, although they sounded like swears, and climbing up his arm, raising his head to full height and baring his fangs threateningly. Madam Malkin jumped back in shock. Harry quickly got a hold on his snake, not wanting him to bite the woman.

 _"Jormungand, no!"_ He hissed frantically, pulling him away from the woman. "I-I'm sorry! He just got a fright!" Harry apologised, cradling the snake in his arms defensively. He could feel panic building up in his chest, his heart fluttering fearfully.

Madam Malkin, to her credit, reacted rather well, considering the situation. She was frightened, of course - who wouldn't be when faced by an angry snake - but pulled herself together. "It's alright, dear," she told Harry, "Why don't you just put him down on the bench over there, and we can continue?" The boy nodded shakily, putting down his pet where she had gestured, and then standing back on the stool.

"You can speak parseltounge?" Harry looked to the boy next to him, who was gaping in awe. He shrugged, looking down nervously, nowhere near comfortable with meeting people's eyes.

Madam Malkin, who had been fitting the robe to his size, frowned in concern. "You're awfully skinny, dear." She said, her unasked question clear to Harry.

"I, u-um, have an eating disorder," he stammered, sticking to the alibi he had decided on. "I'm getting better, though." He added quickly, his face going red as her face grew more concerned. She still seemed rather worried, but she let it slide, continuing to measure him, as he stood silently, wishing this could be over. Finally, she was done, and Harry jumped down from the stool. Biting his lip, he asked timidly, "Would it be possible for me to get some other robes, as well as my school ones?"

Madam Malkin, who was still frowning at him, nodded. "Would you like to try some on, or should I just pick some out for you?"

Harry picked up Jormungand carefully, and answered quietly, "Just pick me some, please." He started towards the door, eager to leave.

"I'll need your name, then." She listened for his answer curiously - the boy was concerning her, and she wanted to make sure he'd be alright.

Harry gulped. He had been dreading that. "Harry Potter." He answered in one breath, leaving instantly, keeping his head down as he hurried away through the crowds.

 

•••

The next few days were a blur of exploring and reading everything he could on the Wizarding World. Harry's fascination only grew with every new discovery, and his thirst for knowledge grew with it. He was gaining more strength every day, now that he could eat whenever he wanted. The only bad thing that had happened was picking up his clothes from Madam Malkin's. She had looked at him with an emotion that was somewhere between awe and fear, and asked far too many questions. He doubted she would have let him leave it Jormungand hadn't threatened to bite her again.

Finally, the day came. Platform Nine and Three Quarters was teeming with people, and Harry had a hard time pushing through the crowds. On his way to the train, he saw the blond boy from before, staring at him with undisguised curiosity. Harry made his way to the Hogwarts Express as fast as he could, finding an empty compartment and closing the door behind him. The hubbub from outside was almost non-existent now, and Harry basked in the silence. He sat down, pulling his potions book from his bag, and continuing from where he'd left off the night before.

After just a few minutes, his door swung open. He jumped, looking up to see the blond boy again.

"Is it true?" Harry blinked, unsure of what the boy was asking. "Are you Harry Potter?" He elaborated, with a 'what did you think I was asking?' kind of look on his face.

Harry nodded dumbly, not really sure how to answer. The boy looked him up and down, and Harry looked  away self consciously. Finally, the boy declared, "You can't be. I don't believe you."

Harry blinked in confusion. "Sorry?"

"Well, everyone knows that Harry Potter grew up getting spoilt somewhere. No one's ever even seen  him, so he were probably in France or something. But there's no way that he ended up as a nervous wreck. Also, for you to be a Parseltounge, you'd have to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and the Potters most certainly were not."

Harry tried to process what the boy had said. Then quietly, almost to himself, he replied. "How would you know what my childhood was like if no one knew where I was?" Despite his almost argumentative tone, he was still looking down at his hands, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

"Well, do you have the scar, then?" The blond seemed to think Harry wouldn't be able to show him, but he lifted a hand and swept his fringe from his eyes, revealing the lightening-shaped scar he was so famous for. After a few moments of silence, the boy walked into the compartment, sitting opposite Harry.

"My name's Darco. Draco Malfoy. I hope we can start over, sorry about that." Malfoy stuck out his hand, presumably for Harry to shake.

"It's a pleasure, heir Malfoy." Harry responded, remembering that Malfoy was a noble house, and showing the proper respect. He shook the offered hand, as confidently as he was able. Malfoy smirked, before leaning back into his seat. The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was spent in near silence, with both boys reading until it was time to get off the train.

 

•••

They were greeted on the station by a massive hairy man shouting for all first years to follow him. They had been told to leave their bags, but Harry took Jormungand with him, knowing the snake probably wouldn't take kindly to other people carrying him. All the first years were piled into boats, and Harry ended up sharing one with Malfoy and another boy called Blaise Zabini.

The boat ride to Hogwarts was amazing, to say the least. The water of the lake was smooth, the only indication that it was water and not glass being the ripples cut through it by the small boats. The sky was cloudless, and stars shone brightly above them, hundreds of thousands of them, and the longer you looked the more there seemed to be. And that was before the castle itself came into sight. With its many towers and walkways, the stone giant seemed to rise up out of the lake itself. It was like it had been taken straight from the pages of a fairy tale, not that Harry knew many.

When they finally reached the shore, the castle loomed that much bigger above them, cutting through the sky and casting it's shadow on the awed students. When they got inside, they were greeted by a stern witch called Mrs McGonagall. When she told them to wait until she came back, her eyes seemed to linger on Harry, and he looked at the floor, hoping she would just leave.

Eventually, it was time for them to enter the Great Hall. Harry wondered what the Sorting Ceremony would be like, and heard other students whispering similar things to each other. Jormungand was hissing excitedly, and Harry had to tell him to pipe down, before someone noticed. A hat was placed on a stool in front of them, and to everyone's surprise, it began to sing. After a few minutes, it stopped. Mrs McGonagall began to call out names.

One by one, the students went up, and the hat was placed on their heads. It then yelled out the house the student was to be sorted into, and they went to join their respective table. For some, it took a while, the whole school waiting impatiently before erupting into applause when the student was finally placed. For others, like Draco, the hat barely touched his head before it hollered out Slytherin.

Finally, Harry heard his name called. The whole hall was suddenly buzzing with whispers, people staring towards the remaining first years with baited breath. Feeling anxiety and anticipation mixing together in the pit of his stomach, Harry took an unsteady step forwards.


	6. The Sorting

He could feel everyone watching him as he stepped forwards towards the Sorting Hat. It was as if he was a dying animal and they were vultures circling him, waiting for him to take his final breath. It felt like it took forever to reach the stool at the front of the hall. When he finally say down, the hat was dropped over his eyes. Now he couldn't see. This was worse than seeing them staring, now he didn't know what the people all around him were doing.

_"Calm, child."_

Harry jumped as a voice spoke directly into his head. Who was that!?

 _"I'm the Sorting Hat. Don't be afraid, it's ok."_ The Hat spoke as if hearing his thoughts. _"Now, let's see... Plenty of ambition, and a thirst, oh yes, an overwhelming thirst for knowledge."_

 _'Get out of my head!'_ Harry yelled inside his mind, trying desperately to put up some sort of barrier, anything, to stop the Hat. The Hat withdrew, but still spoke directly into his thoughts.

_"I cannot share anything I find here with anyone, my enchantments won't allow me, nor would I if I could. People deserve to have privacy within their own minds, but I'm afraid this is just how the Sorting works."_

Harry, still uncomfortable, but consoled, didn't protest when the hat looked inside his mind for a second time.

_"Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, you desire to know more, much more, about the way magic works, down to the very roots of its existence. However, Ravenclaw doesn't seem the right fit for you. There is more about you, far more deeply engrained, that points towards Slytherin as the best house for you. Your ambition, that pushes you to learn, your cunning, that helped you get here today, not to mention the snake currently in your robe pocket."_

Harry agreed. From what he'd read on the four houses, Slytherin definitely fit him the best.

 _"Very well then. You'll do great things, Harry Potter."_ Then, out loud this time, the Hat yelled, "Slytherin!"

Harry took the hat off. His first thought was that nobody was clapping. He stood up, and began walking nervously towards Slytherin. Had he done something wrong? Why weren't they clapping? Then, he saw Malfoy very deliberately start clapping, looking around at his housemates, who quickly followed his example. Harry walked a little more confidently towards Malfoy, sitting next to him when he shuffled over a little to make room.

The rest of the Ceremony was over quickly. Headmaster Dumbledore stood up, and spoke some nonsense words, which only seemed to serve to make students and teachers alike think he was weird. Not that you'd know from his face - He seemed to think he'd said something incredibly profound. Then, he snapped his fingers, and suddenly the tables were covered in an amazing variety of food. Harry heard sounds of delighted surprise all around him. He smiled slightly, and took some food from the vast spread in front of him. He had to remind himself not to eat too much, otherwise he'd get sick.

Sometime during the meal, Harry noticed a dark haired man watching him from the staff table. He nudged Malfoy to get his attention. "Who's that, at the staff table?" He asked, pointing discreetly towards the man.

"Oh, that's Professor Snape. He's the head of Slytherin." Draco answered. "Why?"

Harry shrugged, brushing off his question. He still felt uncomfortable, though. He could feel Professor Snape's eyes on him, and it went shivers down his spine. An adult focusing on him was never a good sign. Attention always lead to pain, one way or another. He tried to ignore it, but as the meal went on, he felt progressively sicker. Why was he still watching him? Harry knew why he felt sick, he'd felt this way enough times before. It was from dread. His body was already anticipating what it thought was about to happen. Harry tried to reason with himself, to calm himself down.

This was a school. None of the teachers at his old school had ever even hit him. It had to be the same here, right? He couldn't help but feel uneasy, though. Harry could feel his nerves climbing higher and higher. He rested his head in his hand and tried his hardest not to panic. He could really do without bringing more attention to himself.

•••

The feast couldn't end soon enough. Harry stood up quickly, following the Slytherin prefect towards their house's dormitory. Apparently Slytherin was in the basement, or dungeons, as he heard some of his fellow first years call it. They came to a dark wooden door, with a gracefully carved snake head on it.

"Belladonna." The prefect said, and the door swung silently open. The new snakes entered, most covering excited grins with not yet perfected masks of aloofness. Harry was cautious as he entered the common room. His eyes looked around him in wonder, taking in the gleaming black wood, the forest green furniture and the stone walls. It looked impressive, but also somehow cosy. One wall had a massive window on it, through which was water shining silver with moonlight. Harry took a moment to puzzle over his exactly how there was light in the water if they were in the basement. It didn't make much sense, but perhaps he could figure it out with time.

"Listen up, first years!" The prefect had turned around to face them, a smirk on her face. "My name is Gemma Farley, and as you will have figured out by now, I am one of the Slytherin prefects. You have all been sorted into Slytherin house. That, in itself, tells me that each of you has the ambition and the cunning to make it far in life. It is the school's job to help push you towards your goals, but it is your house's job to support you along the way." She paused for a moment, and seemed to collect her thoughts.

"There are many preconceived notions and biases against our house, and especially after many dark wizards have come from our house in recent years." Harry could see the people around him nodding, all of them knowing what she was talking about. "They are not accurate representations of our house. We are loyal to our house, and present a united front to the other houses in the school. We can be brave, but we remember caution when facing threats. We have intelligence to rival Ravenclaw. But, beyond that, we have a depth of character that other houses don't have. We are responsible for our own moral choices, and we don't punish others for theirs, even if we don't agree with them. So each and every one of you should be proud to be in Slytherin, and know that despite appearances, we are a close-knit house."

A boy walked over to where Gemma was standing, leaning an arm on her shoulder in a familiar way. "Gemma could go on and on about Slytherin greatness for hours, so I'm going to stop her now for all our sakes." Gamma rolled her eyes, but smiled indulgently at the boy and stopped talking. "The first year dorms are down that corridor," he said, waving in the corridors general direction, "and to the left. Boy's and girl's dorm are then through opposite doors. Your name will be on your room's door. I suggest you all go settle in. Obviously, boys can't go in girl's rooms and vice versa. There are wards in place to stop you. You all get a more formal welcome letter, too, that'll include a map of the school. It'll be on your bedside table. Off you go."

The new students all followed his instructions. They found their respective dorms pretty easily, and went into their rooms. Harry was in a room with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The room was an L shape, with three beds down the longer left side and two on the right. Around the corner, there was an area with desks for studying, as well as some comfy looking chairs, as well as a door that lead into a spacious bathroom.

Harry chose the third bed on the left, which was in the corner of the L. From here, he could see both the door to the bathroom and the dorm door. Although he didn't remember them being here before, it appeared that all of his belongings were already on his bed. He sat down, marvelling at the soft fabric of the sheets. He had never slept on a bed before, always confined to his cramped little cupboard, with it's old raggedy blankets that served as a mattress. A chill ran down his spine at the mere thought of his relative's house, of Aunt Petunia with her pans, spoons and scathing words, and of Uncle Vernon with his extensive collection of belts.

He pushed his dark thoughts out of his mind. The four other boys had chosen their own beds. Malfoy was next to him, Zabini opposite Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle taking the beds nearest the door. Harry supposed he should probably try to get to know them better, but he was exhausted and the school's collective reaction to his sorting had shaken him up a bit. He climbed into his bed, putting his suitcase on the floor. Drawing the heavy green curtains he curled up under the thick covers, still in his school clothes, and snuggled Jormungand to his chest until he fell asleep.


	7. The Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than the last, but I'm basically using it to introduce some more of Harry's past. If you want more, similar chapters, please tell me in the comments, because I'm not sure how much time I want to focus on dreams. I also love answering comments.
> 
> There's a slightly graphic description of abuse in here. You have been warned.

That night, Harry had a dream. Well, it was really more of a memory.

•••

_It was the first day of school. In a small classroom, a group of first year five-year-olds sat unusually quietly, nervous as their teacher called out names. Each child answered "Here" as their name was called. The teacher smiled at each one reassuringly. Then she called the next name. Finally, she called out "Harry Potter?" No answer. She looked around the class, calling again to the child that hadn't answered. Still no answer._

_She looked down at a sheet, then back at the children. She spotted a small boy, with messy black hair, sitting at the back of the class. "Harry, you have to answer when I call your name, dear. Ok?" The boy's eyes flicked up from where they had been staring at his lap, and he saw her looking at him. But his brow only furrowed in confusion. He wasn't Harry. His name was Freak, that's what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had always called him. "Harry." The teacher said in a firmer voice. "You should answer when someone is talking to you." But Freak wasn't allowed to talk. It was against the rules._

_Later that day, he was taken to the teacher's office. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were there. Were they here to punish him? He didn't know what he did wrong. But they just talked to the teacher, and they called him Harry, too. So was he Harry now, and not Freak? Why did they change his name? They also told him to not be so shy, that he had to speak to the teacher. Freak - no, he was Harry now. Harry didn't understand. Why were all the rules changing now?_

_They went home in Uncle Vernon's car. Harry was silent as ever, not yet used to the fact that he was allowed to speak. He walked inside, following Aunt Petunia. Suddenly, he was hit hard in the side of the head, the force knocking him to the ground. "You little FREAK!" Uncle Vernon was yelling, his face purple with rage. Picking up Freak - because he was Freak again now, not Harry - he slammed him into the wall, bashing his skull against it over and over again, until the edges of Freak's vision started to go black. Everything was blurry, he could barely make out Uncle Vernon. That's why he didn't realise he had taken off his belt until it came whistling down across his back, the cold metal end biting into his flesh._

_He just curled up into a tight ball on the floor, whispering apologies for whatever he did that had caused this - he still didn't know what he'd done yet - and trying his hardest to hold back the tears that were already pouring down his cheeks. Aunt Petunia didn't like it when he cried._

•••

Harry woke with a start, bolting upright in his bed. Wait, bed? Oh yeah, he was at Hogwarts now. His entire body was trembling with phantom pains, gasps of frenzied adrenaline leaving him breathless. He took a moment to do a reality check. He placed his shaking hand over his wildly beating heart, feeling his pulse, driven faster by the fight or flight instincts awoken inside him. He then methodically felt around for each of the scars caused by that day, checking that they were still there, they weren't bleeding anymore, it was ok. He was ok.

Feeling his panic fade back down from where it had skyrocketed, he breathed a tired sigh. He was more than used to calming himself down after a dream. He went through the same motions every time - check where he was, feel his heartbeat, check where the injuries in his dream were. Breathe. He looked up at the clock on the dorm wall, reading the time as around six in the morning. He'd need to put on his glasses to know exactly. He rubbed his face in exhaustion. You'd have thought a full night of sleep would have left him with more energy, but his dreams always drained him, and left him worse off than before.

He stood up, careful not to disturb Jormungand, and picked up a set of clean school clothes, before heading to the bathroom. Inside, there was a row of sinks with taps shaped like carved snake heads, one with red eyes and the other with blue. He assumed the colours were to indicate the hot and cold taps.

He made his way over to one of the shower cubicles, dumping his clothes on the floor and turning on the shower. It seemed to automatically know the temperature he wanted, as he stepped into the beautifully warm spray of water. He had only ever had cold, five minute showers with cheap soap, so to have a warm shower was an amazing thing, and he fully intended to enjoy it.

It was just unfortunate that he had to have a dream before hand. It crowded his thoughts, and he couldn't just forget about it. That had been the day he had lost his eyesight, or the majority of it. Since then, he had always needed glasses. He guessed it had something to do with having his head smashed into a wall until he was almost dead. At least it was a memory from when he was five. The older he was in his dreams, the worse it was. He could remember more details, and Uncle Vernon had gotten progressively rougher with him over the years.

•••

Once he was finished his shower, he got dressed, - Noticing that the badge on his robe now showed only the Slytherin house crest - and went back through to the main dorm. Jormungand was awake, and slithered over to him once he saw him. The snake hissed in annoyance that he had left without telling him. Harry apologised, and agreed to tell him next time.

"Potter?" Harry looked up to see Malfoy, sitting bleary-eyed on his bed. "Why are you awake this early? School doesn't start for another two and a half hours."

Harry shrugged. "I guess I'm just an early riser." He said quietly, almost to himself, and while technically it wasn't a lie, he would still be asleep if not for his dream. Having nothing else to do, Harry got out some of the etiquette books Jormungand had him buy, and started to read up on Goblin customs. Noticing Malfoy move, his eyes followed the other boy until he had gone through the bathroom door. Now that nobody else in the room was awake, he allowed himself to focus more keenly on the book he was reading. He liked this. It was peaceful, no sound but his own breathing and the pages turning occasionally. Jormungand was coiled around his arm, his head draped over his shoulder.

For a startling moment, Harry realised this is what safety must feel like. He could feel his heart catch in his throat at the thought. To feel this safe all the time... What must that be like? He felt hot tears gather in his eyes, pinpricks of emotion that soon fell away. The feeling of safety remained.


	8. The Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made a slight change to the chapter "The Inheritance," as a few of my ideas for the story have changed, and it would no longer make sense for Harry to be the heir of Gryffindor, so I took that out. Everything else is still the same, so there's no need to re-read it, just know that Harry is not the Gryffindor Heir.

Breakfast was quiet. Most of the Slytherins arrived at the same time, as there was a rule within their house that you had to get out of bed by eight. The Ravenclaw table had a lot of students at it, either eating, or studying, if they'd already finished. There were only a few people at the Hufflepuff table, and barely any Gryffindors.

Harry didn't eat much, despite every instinct telling him that he should, that the amazing spread of food might be torn away at any minute. He had found out the hard was that after years of starvation, eating a big meal - as tempting as it may be - wasn't a good idea. Instead, once he was full, he slipped scraps of food onto his lap for Jormungand.

The rest of his classmates were mostly quiet, not used to getting up as early as him. For Harry, it was practically an instinct. After all, if he got up late, he'd probably be slammed into a wall or punched to the floor, and he'd still have to make breakfast. Of course, there was still a chance of that happening, even if he was up on time, but that was only if Uncle Vernon was particularly angry.

Harry's eyes flicked up as a rowdy group of Gryffindors came into the hall. A flicker of blue light caught his eye amongst the throng of students. It was pulsating and glowing in a bright ball, and strangely enough, it seemed to be coming from one of two red-haired twins, both of whom wore identical impish grins. Harry blinked, but the light was still there. He rubbed his eyes, and looked up again. It stubbornly stayed in place, unwavering in its intensity. None of the other students paid any attention to it. Was he the only one seeing it?

He was drawn away from the sight by Malfoy, who introduced him to some of the other first year Slytherins. When he looked back up, the light was gone.

•••

Harry had the distinct feeling of being watched throughout the entire day. It had started towards the end of breakfast, when he had been handed his timetable by Professor Snape. The man had looked at him differently from his he looked at everyone else, giving him a raised eyebrow, and an agitated look. All Harry had wanted to do was curl into a ball and disappear. Attention - especially adult attention - was never a good thing. Sure, Malfoy was nice, but for some reason, Harry felt more comfortable around him than other people, which was strange. He still didn't know why.

The day had continued with whispers and glares directed at him from all sides, pupils blatantly staring at him as if he was some sort of rare insect. He just went about his day, and tried to make himself appear as normal as possible. But it was no use. Without ever wanting to, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew why, of course. It was because he survived a curse that was impossible to survive, and it had stuck the equivalent of a massive, brightly glowing sign above him. To others, the sign said "different." To him, it was just another way in which he had been labelled as a freak. But that was fine. That was normal.

The first class Harry had was History of Magic. It was taught by a ghost, and while at first that sounded awesome - not to mention, ghosts couldn't touch him, and that was so incredibly comforting - it turned out that Professor Binns just drawled on and on about goblin rebellions, in the same monotone voice, making what could have been a fun class mind-numbingly boring. On a high note, however, the Ravenclaws they shared the class with seemed more focused on taking meticulous notes than staring at him. He tried to follow their example by jotting down important details as neatly as he could. He also drew little doodles beside his writing to help him remember.

Next, he had double Herbology with Hufflepuff. They all looked at him curiously, but not with the undisguised malice of some Gryffindors he'd seen. It was almost as if they were personally offended that he was here. Harry didn't understand it. But then again, he often didn't understand why people hated him. He was too stupid to understand.

Lunch came, and along with it glares and whispers that shadowed Harry's every move. To him, they were like rabid, starving dogs, stalking in the shadows around a clearing lit with streetlights, staring hungrily at their next meal. And if the lights were to go out- well, they'd never come back on.

Shaking himself free of the dark thoughts, Harry tried to eat a little more. He was still quite full from breakfast, and not at all used to eating more than one meal a day. Well, honestly, he had never really had a meal. It was always just scraps. He sat for a few more minutes, before he finally stood up, and decided to try and find the library.

And just like that, he stepped out of the streetlight's rays.

•••

Once he was out of the hall, he became aware that someone was following him. He hunched his shoulders, and kept walking, fear already building inside him, his heart beating just that little bit faster. He clutched Jormungand where he was coiled around Harry's chest, hidden below his too-big robes. The snake hissed calming words to him, but Harry couldn't seem to stop his internal organs from trying their damn best to ram themselves into his ribs until they broke.

"Hey." A voice from behind him. Harry stopped, turning around slowly with wide eyes, his shoulders hunched, tension making them ache from becoming so stiff. There was a boy with ginger hair, disinterested blue eyes and a face full of freckles walking towards him. He was instantly reminded of the twins he had seen at breakfast. Maybe they were related. "You're Harry Potter." Harry nodded, almost flinching at the cold tone of the boy's voice. "I want to know why you're in Slytherin."

"W- what?" Now Harry was confused as well as frightened. It's not like he chose to be in Slytherin. "I said," the boy was walking towards him now, malice dancing in his eyes, "I want to know why you're in Slytherin."

"I don't- I don't know." Not for the first time, Harry wished he could still see clearly, because at least then he could tell from the boy's face how angry he was. It wasn't made any better by the tears pooling in his eyes that made everything more distorted.

"You're supposed to be the boy-who-lived! You're supposed to be a brave Gryffindor, not some slimy snake who cries from words alone!" The boy exploded angrily, yelling at Harry indignantly, and he didn't understand. He really was an idiot.

"I- I'm sorry." Harry choked out quietly, trying to curl into himself even as he stood shaking. The first tear ran down his cheek, and he wiped it away with jerky movements. He had never managed to stop himself from crying, even though he should be used to pain by now. He was so pathetic.

"Hey Ronnykins," Harry looked up in surprise as he heard a new voice. It was the twins he had seen earlier. "You really shouldn't be so mean to people." The other continued the sentence. Although they were speaking in a playful tone, their identical faces were anything but. They had matching expressions of barely concealed rage. Harry wanted nothing better than to turn around and run, but if he ran, the punishment was always more painful.

"I'm not being mean, he's just a pussy." The boy snapped at them, apparently ignorant to how angry they were. Harry winced, already dreading what kind of beating he might get.

"What you just said-"  
"-Was mean, Ickle Ronnykins." The twins were still grinning, just like when Harry had first seen them, but there was something darker about it now. Maybe it was how they were standing just slightly too stiffly, or the way they clenched their teeth, or that they were almost grimacing, rather than smiling.

Harry blinked, letting gathered tears streak down his face. Suddenly, the world burst into blue. It was the same light he had seen before, except now all three of the ginger-haired boys had it, balled at their chests. The twins had slightly different colours, with one having dark turquoise, and the other having cobalt blue. They were angrily spiking, and pulsing in waves like a heartbeat. They also looked like they were grabbing for each other, mixing between where the boys stood, used to each other's presence.

The other boy had a more diluted colour, an almost muddy grey-blue, like the sea, but a lighter shade. His was writhing in frustration and indignation, but nothing like the twins, with their carefully bottled fury, shook and fizzed up so much that at any moment the cap might fly off.

Harry had the sudden thought that perhaps he had one of these balls of light, too. He looked down at his chest, and was almost blinded by brilliant emerald green. Up close, he noticed that the light was split into clumps, moving in and out of itself in long lines. He also noticed a much smaller black clump next to his green. Confused, he tried to touch it, only to have Jormungand hiss and wriggle in complaint. So the black was Jormungand's, then.

Out of nowhere, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Looking up quickly, he jumped backwards, almost falling over, when a hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him. It was one of the twins, the one with turquoise light. His snake sprung into action, falling onto the floor and raising up his head like a cobra. He hissed angrily at the one who had touched him, making him back up, away from Harry. He stopped once they were far enough away, but kept staring at them, hissing at the slightest movement.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." One of the twins said. Although the light at their chests was fading , Harry could make out that it was the one with turquoise again. "I'm George, and that is Fred," he gestured at the twin with cobalt blue. "And we're sorry about out brother, he can be an ass sometimes." Harry noticed, then, that the shorter red-haired boy had left.

"Now, could you maybe-"  
"-Call your snake off?" They were finishing each other's sentences again, Harry noticed. "Uh, y- yeah, sorry. _Jormungand, it'ssss ok. Thankssss for that, though."_ Harry barely even noticed as he switched into parseltounge, but Fred and George gaped at him.

"You can-"  
"-Speak to snakes?"

"Yeah, I- I can."

"Epic!" They both said at once.

Harry spent a bit longer talking to the twins, and they turned out to be really funny, making him feel relaxed in the same way that Draco did. They helped him find the library, too, but said that they couldn't go inside with him, since they were banned from it, after an "incident last year." Harry got the impression that they'd had a lot of incidents.

He spent the rest of lunch reading a book about potions, and decided he would probably enjoy making them, although he didn't know how to feel, knowing that it was taught by professor Snape. But he didn't have potions until Wednesday, so he guessed he'd find out then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really like the end of this chapter, and the whole thing feels slightly too fast-paced, but I decided to just post it. Any ideas what the lights Harry is seeing are?
> 
> Also, I actually made a timetable for Harry, but I haven't worked out how to post it. Anyway, on Mondays, he has:
> 
> History of Magic with Ravenclaw  
> Double Herbology with Hufflepuff  
> Lunch  
> Charms with Ravenclaw  
> Transfiguration with Ravenclaw
> 
> I made it so that Slytherin and Gryffindor don't have every class together, and on Mondays, they happen to have none. And every lesson is 1 hour, except last period, which is an hour and 10 minutes. Also lunch is an hour and 20 minutes, which is why they don't have break.


	9. The Defence Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than I would have liked, but I wanted to post it, because I struggle with writer's block, and I find the best thing to do is just force yourself to move on. It still feels a little incomplete, but I got to a good ending point, so I decided to just stop.

Harry had never paid particular attention to the scar on his forehead. It was always just another scar to him. He knew, or course, the significance of it, and he knew it was probably the first scar he ever got, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If anything, it just made him think of what his life could have been.

Today, however, he couldn't help but notice it. As he had entered his first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, it had begun to sting and ache. To make matters worse, this was also his first class with Gryffindor, and Ron was glaring at him from across the room.

Strangely, all through his first two classes, he had been fine. It was only when a man who introduced himself as professor Quirrel had ushered them all into the class that his headache began. It came along with a wave of dizzying nausea, making him stumble as he found a seat.

He took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile in the back of his throat. He had dealt with everything from concussions to the worst infections, he'd lain in that cupboard for weeks with no food, no water, with only a thin blanket forward off the cold. He could deal with this. He was used to being ill. However, he had never felt so violently dizzy so quickly before. Somewhere in his clouded mind, the rational part of him knew it was caused by some sort of magic.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Malfoy nudging him, and nodding his head towards the professor. Harry felt instinctual fear crawl through his veins. What had professor Quirrel said? Had he asked a question? Harry's mouth opened, but he didn't know what to say. His throat had clenched up. He couldn't speak, could barely formulate words. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? He felt panic shiver down his spine, hairs standing on end, his mind ready to shut down, and the world was spinning way too fast, giving Harry sickening vertigo. He just wanted to curl up in a ball, hide in his cupboard, and let the darkness consume him. The darkness was safe.

But he couldn't do that, not here, not now. He had to pull himself together. He grasped at Jormungand, the snake having wrapped himself tighter round Harry's chest.

"I- I'm sorry, professor. I d- didn't hear you." Harry spoke in almost a whisper, but in the dead silence of the class, his voice sounded far too loud. He heard a snicker from the Gryffindor side of the classroom.

"Did you hear him? He stutters almost as much as Quirrel." Harry felt his face burning bright red in embarrassment. He glanced over to see ron staring at him with an overly cocky grin. The ginger haired boy seemed to loathe him for no apparent reason, ever since they first met. The confrontation in the corridor didn't seen to help.

"...A- a- a- anyway, Harry, I- I was just w- w- wo- wondering if you could remember the n- ni- night your parents died. I- I- I'm sure I'm n- not the o- o- only one interested."

Harry frowned slightly as the professor spoke. His stutter sounded a little too dramatic to be real, especially if the rumours of him meeting just a single vampire were to be believed. It took more than that to develop a stutter.

"I'm s- sorry professor, I don't re- remember." Harry did have a vague memory of a blinding green light, and a woman screaming, but he didn't feel like telling Quirrel about that. He wanted to figure out why someone would feel the need to fake a stutter, first.

The rest of the lesson went by far more smoothly, although Quirrel made it awfully boring by taking ten minutes to utter a single phrase. Harry felt even more sick by the end, what begun as a particularly bad headache had progressed to an acute pain across his entire head. It was like an intense pressure bearing down on his skull, trying to make it collapse in on itself. When the bell rung, he almost fell over as he tried to get up, forced to sit back down as the pain spiked to an almost unbearable agony. The edge of his vision darkened, and Harry realised he was dangerously close to losing consciousness.

"-ter? Hey, can you hear me?" Harry realised that Malfoy was talking to him. He blinked, and looked up at the blond standing next to him. Malfoy was frowning slightly, appearing worried.

"Are you okay, Potter?" Harry blinked again, and it took a few moments for him to process the question, because he was an idiot.

"Yeah, I just feel a bit sick, and I'm dizzy." The world was still spinning around him, but he tried to focus on the taller boy who was looking even more worried now.

"Do you want to go to the hospital wing?"

"N- no!" Harry was shocked at how loud he spoke, he was almost shouting. He felt familiar panic building up in his chest, because _ohgodwhatisvernongoingtodotomethistime_ was practically a knee-jerk reaction at this point. "I mean- I'm fine. I'm fine, I just don't think I'll be able to eat lunch today."

Harry nodded, getting up, only to stumble once again. He walked as steadily as possible out of the defence classroom, deciding to go to the library. He didn't know quite what he was going to do there, but it was as good a place as any to spend his lunchtime.

"Are you afraid of doctors?" Malfoy asked, having apparently decided to walk beside him.

A slew of answers came to the forefront of Harry's mind; _freaks don't deserve treatment, you're enough of a burden as it is, they would never heal someone as ungrateful as you, do you want them to know how much of a freak you are, do you really want them to see your disgusting, slutty little body, whore?_ "Yeah, something like that."

•••

Malfoy managed to convince Harry that he needed to eat something for lunch, after a good ten minutes of non-stop pestering, that frankly almost made Harry impressed at how annoyingly, incessantly stubborn Malfoy was. They walked together to the hall, sitting at the Slytherin table. Harry, despite having agreed to eat, still only took a meagre helping. He was still feeling dizzy, and the smell of all the rich food in the hall was not helping. He groaned, putting his hands over his eyes.

It was when he looked up again that it happened.

The whole hall burst into vibrant colour, every single person in the room a different hue. At any other time, he would think it beautiful. At that moment, it only served to almost make him throw up all over Zabini. The colours were twisting and spinning together, a whirlpool of writhing emotions, parts spiking angrily while others bubbled in amusement. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, willing them to just go away.

They were still there. He opened his eyes and they were still there. Globes of vibrant light, shining and moving and coiling in patternless shapes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the timetable for Tuesdays is;
> 
> Divination with Hufflepuff  
> History of Magic with Ravenclaw  
> Defence with Gryffindor  
> Lunch  
> Defence with Gryffindor  
> Transfiguration with Ravenclaw


	10. The Worthless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING 
> 
> This chapter is a lot darker than all the previous ones. It's another one of Harry's dreams, but it's so, so much worse than the last one. This chapter includes rape, a lot of swearing and cutting. Read at your own risk.
> 
> I'm definitely going to hell for this.

_Freak heard the front door slam open. He flinched violently, curling his tiny, pathetically skinny body into as small of a ball as he could without jostling his broken arm. It was the summer holidays, and Freak was curled up in his cupboard, trembling in fear. Most eight year old boys would want the holiday to last forever. Not Freak. Freak wished he could go to school all year round, because then at least he got to be Harry for half the day. Now, he was always Freak._

_Another crash from outside helped give Freak a good idea of just how drunk Vernon was. He winced, knowing that sooner or later, the door to his cupboard would be flung open, and he would be dragged out of his sanctuary, no sympathy for the jagged pain that would jolt down his arm, or the way his back would rip open like torn paper._

_It had gotten so much worse recently. Something had happened between Vernon and Petunia, and Vernon was coming home drunker by the day. Freak was so afraid that one day, Vernon was going to kill him. Wrap a deceptively strong hand hidden by podgy fingers around his throat and squeeze. Squeeze until the world turned black._

_The door smashed into the wall and the comfortable darkness was replaced by Vernon's stark silhouette against the brightness of the corridor outside Freak's cupboard. Tears of petrified terror spilled unbound from Freaks treacherous eyes. He wasn't allowed to cry. Petunia didn't want him getting his disgusting fluids all over her perfect house._

_Freak was yanked harshly from his haven by alcohol-clumsy hands twitching with an urge to rip the tiny boy apart, piece by bloody piece. He screamed before he could cover his disgusting mouth. Vernon growled like a feral beast and flung him against the wall in fury._

_"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF SHIT?" Vernon yelled at the trembling, broken body curled up on the floor, one arm raised in a futile attempt to protect flimsy skin and brittle bones from an onslaught of abuse the boy knew was yet to come._

_"YOU DON'T SPEAK, YOU DON'T MAKE A SINGLE SOUND OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL!" A boot-clad foot came down hard on Freak's stomach. Freak bit his tongue and didn't make a sound, even as fresh pain blossomed on his already bruised body._

_"YOU REALLY ARE WORTHLESS, JUST LIKE YOUR GOOD-FOR-NOTHING PARENTS! YOU CAN'T EVEN FOLLOW THE SIMPLEST INSTRUCTIONS!" A heavy hand knocked his arm out of the way, and Freak let it fall to the floor, knowing trying to defend himself would only make things so much worse._

_Hands pulled him onto his stomach, knees pinned him in place, making him gasp as his broken bone grated against itself, sparks of pure agony making his arm practically burn. His back wasn't much better; skin pulling away from scabby flesh, blood smearing the ground through Freaks jumper. There was a moment of silence, and Freak kept his eyes squeezed shut, trying to prepare himself for the torture he knew was coming._

_"Petunia isn't having sex with me and it's your fucking fault." Freak felt shivers of stomach-turning fear through his whole body. It was bad enough when Vernon got drunk, but when he was sober enough to really think, it was ten times worse. "You deserve to be punished for that."_

_Then, out of nowhere, he started to pull down Freaks trousers. Freak's eyes flew open in shock. "W- what are you doing? S- st- stop! Stop it!" He tried to escape, despite the shockwaves it sent down his arm, despite the peeling agony of his back, despite how much the man pinning him to the ground had broken him, beaten him, told him just how worthless he was, how much everybody hated him, how nobody would ever save him from Vernon's fists, or his belt, or from anything he chose to do to Freak._

_A slap across the face. "Don't you DARE give me orders, Freak. I own you. Do you understand, you fucking retard? I. Own. You. I can do WHATEVER I want to you and you will NOT resist me, or I promise you I will hurt you worse than I ever have before."_

_Freak could feel more tears streaming down his face as immobilising panic gripped his body. He went limp. He knew there was no point trying to fight against Vernon, the man was so much bigger and stronger than him, and besides, nobody cared if Freak got hurt. He deserved it for being so worthless._

_He felt his uncle drag the oversized trousers off his tiny body, doing the same with his underwear. He whimpered pitifully as he was flipped around to face the floor, tears of terrified confusion forming a pool on the wooden boards. He didn't understand. He didn't understand why his uncle hated him. He didn't understand why he lived in a cupboard when Dudley got to sleep in a bed. He didn't understand what was happening. He really was stupid._

_Then, he felt something push against his butt. Something hot and hard and fuck he was so goddamn scared. Whatever it was, it just kept pushing. It pushed inside him, and all he could do was sob brokenly. It hurt. It hurt like nothing he had felt before, it was like fire, like a knife stabbing deeper and deeper inside him and if he looked he knew that was blood pooling around his knees. Then it started to pull out, and he could finally breathe._

_It slammed back into him so much harder and so much faster than before. Freak screamed. He screamed until his breath ran out and that thing was still carving out his insides, plunging in and out so fast that his entire body shook from the effort of staying on all fours. Then it drove in even deeper, and Vernon was moaning and cursing and something hot and wet and sticky was suddenly filling his arse._

_Then, finally, the thing was gone. Freak heard the sound of a zipper, and then Vernon's voice. "You'd better clean up your mess, slut, or I'll put you through pain much worse than that."_

•••

Freak started awake. No, not Freak, he was NOT Freak, he was Harry. His name was Harry.

Harry had the sudden urge to be sick.

Coughing, Harry flushed the toilet. He was lucky that he got here in time, he never would have managed to get the stain out of that carpet. No. NO. It wasn't his job to clean here. He was a student, not a janitor. It didn't stop his heart from skipping a beat at the thought.

Freak felt so dirty. Harry had to remind himself that he had a proper name, that he was allowed to be a human, and not just a dumb animal that couldn't even take his master's dick without screaming.

Shit. He really fucked Harry up in the head, didn't he? Harry stepped into the cold spray of the shower, knowing that nothing could ever really wash away his uncle's words, or the marks he liked to leave on Harry's body. Or the ones he left inside it.

Nonononono don't think about that. Do not think about how broken you are, how he shattered you like glass underneath him, how he ra-

Don't even think that word. You'll break even more than you already have if you do.

Harry stepped out of the shower on autopilot, skin rubbed raw from useless scrubbing, only to realise that he didn't have a change of clothes. He wrapped his disgusting body in a towel as best he could, and went to get a set of school clothes.

He got dressed quickly, never once looking at the long row of mirrors above the sinks.

Blood oozed lazily into the sink from the long slash on the inside of his forearm. This was his. His cut. His knife. His pain. His blood. Not Vernon's. Never Vernon's. It was the only thing that his uncle hadn't taken away from him. He had taken his name, his voice, his food, his body, his virginity-

Fuck. Fuck, nonono, he didn't- his uncle didn't-

Harry slid to the floor, wrists in tatters.

His uncle raped him. He never stopped when Harry screamed. Never cared when he passed out from the pain. Just. Used him. Over and over again.

The first of his tears joined the blood on the ground.

He was so fucking disgusting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ' m s o r r y


	11. The Potions Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry is terrified of Snape, and Draco is just a little sweetheart.

It was Wednesday. Harry had cleaned himself up and wrapped the ugly cuts on his wrists in bandages. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was five in the morning. Harry sat in his bed, and stared into space, trying to keep his head clear, trying not to think. It wasn't working. Tears rolled down his face as he sat there, not moving, not even when Jormungand tried to comfort him. He must have stayed like that for at least an hour.

"Potter? Are you okay?" Harry heard Malfoy's voice, but just kept on staring despondently at nothing.

"Harry?" Harry flinched internally, he didn't deserve that name, he was nothing more than a little whore, he didn't deserve to be treated like a human.

Malfoy reached out and shook his shoulder gently.

Freak gasped, pulling away and curling up in the corner of his bed as fast as he could. Jormungand coiled tightly around his arm, hissing softly, trying to calm down the terrified boy.

"...Harry?" Malfoy said again, quieter this time, and Freak wished he had his glasses on because he had no idea what expression was on the other boys face.

"D- dont-" Freak knew he was going to get punished for speaking, for pulling away, for daring to think he could resist being touched. "Please don't to- touch me." In that moment, it didn't matter, because every instinct was screaming at him and he couldn't. He just. Couldn't. He felt sick at the mere thought of somebody's hands on him, touching him, hurting him, burning him, using him.

"Okay, I'm not going to touch you Harry. I'm just going to sit next to you. Is that okay?"

Harry gasped, because nobody had ever listened to him when he told them to stop, not Vernon, not the men he had over from work. Trying his best to push those thoughts out of his mind, he nodded. He watched through blurry eyes as Draco climbed into his bed, sitting next to him. He didn't touch him. Didn't even come close enough to touch him. Harry was finally able to take the breath that had been caught in his throat.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head vehemently. Draco couldn't know how much of a disgusting freak he was. He would hate him. Harry knew he would.

"Okay. Do you want me to leave?"

Harry shook his head again, because he was so afraid of being alone, so afraid of his own mind, his own thoughts, his own memories.

"Alright. I'll stay here then."

It took all of ten minutes for Harry to fall asleep again, unconsciously snuggling over to Draco, resting his head on his lap, desperately grabbing him as if he was afraid that if he let go, Draco would leave him. Draco held the tiny, frightened boy in his arms until the others woke up.

•••

"Harry?" Harry heard a soft voice saying his name. "Harry, you have to wake up now. It's time for breakfast." Harry sat up quickly. He had to make breakfast! Was he late? Vernon would pummel him into the ground if he was late. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Malfoy was next to his bed, he was the one who woke him up.

Reaching for his glasses, Harry looked at the clock. Ten minutes to eight. He was fine, he wasn't late. He was fine.

He slipped out of bed, withholding a grimace as his arms stung from moving. He was already dressed, so he put on his shoes and waited for Malfoy, before they headed to the hall together.

Harry didn't eat much for breakfast. His mind was still swimming with far too many memories, and he felt if he ate too much he would be sick again, just like the disgusting little bitch that he was.

The first class they had on Wednesdays was double Potions. Harry felt more than a little nervous about this class, because the teacher, Professor Snape, was incredibly intimidating. He reminded him too much of the nameless men Vernon invited home, with their dark eyes and cruel words.

Harry sat next to Draco in the potions class. He had been excited about this subject at first, but now all he felt was fear. When the doors swung loudly open, he flinched, ducking his head and trembling. Draco -God bless him- knocked his knee lightly against Harry's and smiled reassuringly at him. Although even the slightest contact still sent shivers up Harry's spine, he found, to his surprise, that he trusted Draco, despite having just met him, not to hurt him.

The darkly dressed Professor started calling out names. He spoke in a soft, sibilant voice, but in the dead silence of the classroom, it seemed to reverberate around the walls. He paused as he reached Harry's name. He looked up at Harry, and Harry kept his eyes trained in the desk, not wanting to look into the man's eyes. Then, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he continued the register.

Once Professor Snape had called out everyone's name, he paced slowly in front of his desk, regarding the class with cold black eyes. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he finally said, pronouncing every syllable in a dangerously low voice. Harry trembled. He wanted nothing more than to leave the classroom, to flee back to his dorm and hide under the thick covers of his bed. Jormungand was wrapped tightly around his chest, his head laying heavily over Harry's heart, and Harry knew if not for the snake he'd be having a panic attack right now. He barely even heard the rest of the Potion master's speech; he was far too focused on remembering how to breathe.

"Potter!" The Professor suddenly snapped, and Harry jumped, heart hammering in his chest far too fast. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Harry remembered reading about this- it made some sort of sleeping draught, but he couldn't remember the name. He was such an idiot.

"D- does it make a sleeping potion, sir?" He said quietly, not really expecting to be correct. A heavy silence filled the room, and Harry felt sick to his stomach. He was wrong, he knew he was wrong, he was so stupid, he-

"Indeed, Potter. What is the name of that sleeping potion?"

Harry looked up in shock. He was right? Then his panic returned as he realised he had no idea what is was called.

"I don't- I don't know, sir." Fuck, he was so stupid. He could already practically feel the belt coming down on his back, hungry eyes glaring down at him, hands all over his-

"It is known as the Draught of Living Dead. Five points to Slytherin, Potter, that was a difficult question."

Harry felt shock and then confusion rush through his mind. He thought for sure he would be punished for being such a retarded fuck up. But the professor was already asking an Irish Gryffindor boy another question. Nobody paid any mind to how idiotic he was for not knowing the answer. He felt his heart rate slow, and he could breathe again.

The rest of the lesson was spent making their first potion. Draco said he'd been making potions since he was little, and he showed Harry how to properly prepare the ingredients. Harry was already pretty good at this sort of thing, because it was a lot like cooking, except he wouldn't get beaten to a bloody pulp if he did something wrong. Snape, who had been pacing the classroom, telling people what they were doing wrong, finally came to Harry and Darco's table. He looked at their potion, and Harry knew he probably messed something up, knew he was going to be punished for it-

"Very good, Malfoy, Potter. Perhaps it could be a slightly darker shade of purple, but for first years, you are both doing remarkably well."

Harry's mouth turned up in a small smile before he could stop himself. He felt his heart well with an emotion he couldn't name. It was a sense of accomplishment, because he did something right for once, and he was happy with the potion, happy with himse- well, not quite. It was impossible to feel happy about himself when he was such a stupid freak.

Proud, he decided. He felt proud.

Draco was smiling too, and Harry knew that he felt the same way.

Suddenly, a hissing noise came from the other side of the classroom. A thick green fog was coming from a Gryffindor's cauldron, which was a mangled, melted mess, the potion seeping out and pooling on the stone floor. Students pulled their feet away from the apparently acidic concoction, as Snape swept across the classroom. A flick of the Professor's wand and the liquid was gone.

He rushed to the boy next to the cauldron, whose arms and legs were covered in red boils.

"Idiot boy!" The Professor snarled, and that's all it took for Harry's mind to shut down. Snape continued on, saying something about porcupine quills, but all Harry really heard was his angry voice, and those two words. Idiot boy.

•••

At lunch that day, Draco's owl brought two copies of the Daily Prophet. Draco told Harry that since he didn't have an owl, his would bring them both the newspaper.

"Y- you don't need to get me the newspaper," Harry protested, "I'm fine without."

"It's no trouble, really, Potter. Just take the damn newspaper."

From across the table, another first year - Pansy Parkinson, he believed - giggled. "Draco's got a boyfriend~" she said in a singsong voice. Beside Harry, Draco blushed an extraordinary shade of red.

"I DO NOT! Pansy, take that back!" Draco shouted indignantly, and Harry covered his ears, because even though he knew Draco wasn't really mad, he was still a coward, and shouting still scared him. He grinned along with Parkinson, though, because it was pretty funny to see Draco explode like that.

The girl winked at him, nudging Millicent Bulstrode, the girl beside her. She whispered something, and then they started chanting together.

"Draco and Harry, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"SHUT IT, PANSY!" Draco yelled, looking the most embarrassed Harry had ever seen anyone look.

And Harry burst out laughing, because it was the funniest thing he had seen in so long, and he was crying at the same time, because he felt like he belonged here.

"HARRY!" Draco blushed even brighter, if that was even possible, "YOU'RE MEANT TO BE ON MY SIDE!" The whole hall was staring at them now, but Harry couldn't help himself. He had to.

"Why, 'cause I'm your boyfriend or something?"

Draco groaned and buried his head in his hands, looking like he might die of embarrassment.

From somewhere further down the table, Harry heard Zabini pipe up.

"We all saw you cuddling him this morning, Dray!"

"I hate all of you." Draco moaned, and Harry felt the happy illusion break. The smile slipped from his face. _Everybody hates you, you fucking freak. They might pretend that they like you, but they don't. Nobody could stand being in the presence of a worthless slut like you._

Harry felt like he was going to be sick again. He stood up sharply, and headed toward the Slytherin common room. He walked quickly, urgently, because he had to get there before he broke down.

"Harry?" He heard Draco's voice, and footsteps. A hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" He said, way too loudly. Then, quieter, more brokenly, "Just- please don't fucking touch me."

He barely noticed that Jormungand was now coiled around his shoulder, head raised and fangs bared in warning. He barely heard the whispers that flooded the hall. He barely saw the shocked looks on their faces. He turned, and ran. He knew that he had fucked up, that they wouldn't forgive him, that he had lost his first and only friend.

•••

He ran to the dorm, to the bathroom with his knife. He pulled it harshly across his wrist, drawing jagged line after jagged red line, muttering abusive words drilled into him since he could understand English, words that had been so thoroughly hammered into him that he didn't pause for even a moment to consider that they might not be true.

"Maybe you should just kill yourself." He glared at the mirror, at his tiny, weak, broken, worthless body, at his self-inflicted wounds and _how could he be so selfish as to think of killing himself?_

"Fuck," he swore, dropping his gaze and then his knife to the floor. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK! I'm the happiest I've ever been and I still want to die. I'm so fucking disgusting. I deserve everything Vernon ever did to me." Tears spilled from his eyes, hot like his blood. His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor. He doubled over, trying to breathe, and let out a heart-wrenching wail. Because he was in so much more pain on the inside than even the scarred battleground of his body could show. And he desperately wanted to leave this world behind.

It took him a long half hour to calm down, and wrap his arms back up, and wash the blood off his hands and his knife and the floor. Then he got back into his bed, and hid under the covers with Jormungand. He cried until his eyes drooped from exhaustion, and the comfortable darkness lulled him into restless sleep.

That's how Draco found him an hour later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to make this chapter a little fluffier. Along with a good helping of angst, yeah, but you can't just go from the last chapter to this one and not have angst.
> 
> Also, the timetable for Wednesday is:
> 
> Double potions with Gryffindor  
> Defence with Gryffindor  
> Lunch  
> Charms with Ravenclaw  
> Astrology with Hufflepuff
> 
> Astrology starts at 12, because you need to be able to see the stars.


	12. The Disquiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit short, but it wouldn't make sense to continue it.
> 
> This is from Draco's perspective, and I found it a bit harder to write than when it's from Harry's perspective. Hopefully I wrote him well.

"I- I'm sorry! Please don't hate me!" The words fell like water from Harry's mouth, spilling out before he could stop himself.

"Harry, I don't hate you. I don't have any reason to hate you." Draco spoke softly, frowning down at Harry in concern. The raven haired boy had seemed different from everyone else the moment he got here. Maybe it was the way his too-big robes hung off his fragile form, or his hauntingly green eyes that could easily pass for fractured glass, or maybe it was the nightmares he had, that seemed to continue even through the day.

Draco couldn't help but be worried about the tiny boy. Especially now, when he was curled up on his bed hidden beneath his covers, with only his mop of black hair poking out.

"Look, Harry-" and Draco wished the boy wouldn't flinch when he said his name, as if it were a cruel word- "What I said back there was a joke. I didn't mean it."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't mean that. It's because I shouted at you."

Draco smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That's what this is about? Harry, I would never hate you for something like that." Draco hoped he managed to keep his voice from shaking, because he was so scared for Harry. He was already so devoted to keeping his safe, even though they only met three days ago. But how couldn't he be, when Harry was afraid of every little noise? When Harry jumped at the slightest touch, when he started panicking over the smallest things? He didn't know what had happened to Harry to make him like this, but it didn't matter. Even if Harry never told him, he would still be there for him.

•••

Draco was sitting on his bed, looking over at Harry. It had been a few hours since he had spoken to him, and Harry was now curled up in a ball, blankets wrapped around him in an imitation of a nest. His snake was draped over him, and both of them were asleep.

Looking at the clock, Draco sighed. He knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep before Astrology, and it was going to be hard to get up on Thursday. At least you don't have nightmares every night, he thought bitterly. Since they had arrived at Hogwarts, Harry had been up and dressed before Draco woke up consistently. He claimed he was just an early riser, but the dark bags under his eyes said otherwise.

From across the room, Draco saw Blaise shift in his bed.

"You still awake, Blaise?" Draco whispered, not wanting to wake the other boys in the room. There was a muffled ruffle of sheets as Blaise shifted into a sitting position, facing towards Draco.

"Yeah. I can't stop thinking about what happened at lunch."

"Same here. I'm just- I'm really worried about Harry."

The shadowed outline of Blaise made its way quietly across the room. Draco shifted slightly to make room for the other boy on his bed.

"I don't understand why he's so on edge all the time," Draco continued, "I wish I could help him, but how can I, when I have no idea what's going on." Draco looked across to Blaise, and even in the near darkness, he could see the dark look in his friends eyes.

"What is it? Do you know what's going on?"

"It's nothing, I'm just tired. We should probably try to sleep before Astrology, anyway." Blaise started to stand up, his eyes still looking oddly lost, like he was seeing something other than the world around them.

"Wait!" Draco whispered harshly, grabbing onto the other boy's arm. "I've known you for most of my life, Blaise, and you are not just tired. Now tell me, what's going on?"

"I don't know anything Draco, honestly. It's just a hunch."

"Well then what do you think is going on?" Draco practically growled. Why couldn't Blaise just tell him?

"Let's just say he can't be acting like his own shadow is out to get him for no reason, ok?" With that, Blaise pulled away, getting back into his own bed.

"Blaise?" Draco hissed. "Blaise? Fine then, just ignore me." Draco laid down angrily. What the hell did Zabini mean? Of course Draco knew there had to be a reason, he wasn't a fucking dunderheaded lion. So why couldn't be just spit it out? Draco just wanted to help Harry, and if Blaise could help him help Harry, then why wasn't he?

•••

Draco groaned as he opened his eyes. The brightness of the morning burned his eyes, but he knew he had to get up. He sat up groggily on his bed, still tired from Astrology. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked until it no longer felt like knives of light were stabbing through his pupils. He looked over to Harry's bed, only to see the bespectacled boy crouching next to his bed, with his arms wrapped around his knees protectively.

"Harry?" Draco said softly, coming a little closer to him, before he crouched, too. "Are you okay?" Tear tracks shone on his cheeks. His eyes had a glassy quality, as if he was in a different place in his mind. Draco supposed he might be.  
  
An almost unnoticeable nod. Draco knew it was a lie, but at least he was responding.

"You know if you ever want to talk to me, you can." His killing curse green eyes went from glazed over to fearfully wide in a split second. Harry showed everything through his eyes, even if he didn't realise it.

"You don't have to," Draco backtracked quickly, "it's just an option, if you wanted to."

Harry relaxed again, nodding. He pulled himself up off the ground, smiling weakly at Draco.

"I- it's almost time for breakfast. We should probably get to the hall." Harry changed the subject, not being at all subtle about it. Draco nodded along, deciding not to say anything, knowing he would just make Harry more anxious.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll just get dressed, you can go on ahead if you want."

"N- no, I'll wait for you."

Draco headed to the bathroom, trying to ignore the uneasy sick feeling he got as he heard the fear in Harry's voice, at the mere thought of being alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine how awkward Astrology must have been. Draco would be mad at Blaise, Blaise would just try to avoid eye contact, and poor Harry would think he had done something wrong, so Draco would try and comfort him, whilst still glaring at Blaise, and Blaise would want to help but he couldn't because Draco wouldn't let him and it would just be a mess.


	13. The Interrogation

Harry felt eyes on him the instant he entered the hall. It was a mix of curiosity and suspicion to outright animosity from many of the Gryffindors. He sat down at the table next to Draco as usual, and Pansy almost instantly leaned over with a look of curious excitement.

"So how long have you had a snake, Potter?" She asked, eyes lighting up in glee at his horrified expression as he vaguely remembered that everybody saw Jormungand at lunch on Wednesday. The girl smiled mischievously, and leaned closer, loudly stage whispering to him.

"Don't worry, I'll keep your secret." She winked animatedly, and nobody missed the sarcasm that she offset with her jovial tone.

Harry shrunk back, his hands automatically reaching up to where his snake was hidden underneath his shirt.

"It's in your robes, isn't it?" Pansy leaned further across the table, reaching a hand towards Harry. "Come on, at least let me see him. Please?"

Harry could feel that familiar, all-consuming panic begin to build in his chest. He didn't like all of the attention he was getting. He held back a whimper, and clutched frantically at Jormungand, who poked his head out of Harry's robe and hissed at Pansy.

"Pansy, stop it." Blaise spoke up. "I get that you're curious, but stop being so pushy."

Pansy leaned back, huffing and imitating Blaise in a whiney voice.

Harry curled a hand loosely around Jormungand's neck, stroking the silky scales absently.

"Thanks." He said quietly, deciding to focus on his breakfast rather than the hoards of people still staring at him.

"No problem," came the reply.

Harry glanced up, noticing the light around Blaise was a golden caramel colour. The lights had stubbornly stayed there since yesterday, pulsing and glowing in interesting patterns. Draco's was a shimmering blue-grey, almost like metal. He noticed that the colours of the light tended to match people's eyes, although sometimes they were slightly different. He also noticed that a few of the lights seemed to pop out at him much more than other's. So far, he had noticed the twins, Draco's, Blaise's, a Hufflepuff boy's and a Ravenclaw girl's had popped amongst the student's. There was something weird about Professor Quirrels light, and he couldn't quite place it, but the same weirdness was in his, too. But by far, Headmaster Dumbledore's was the most weird.

There was something about it that disturbed him in a way that he didn't understand. Sometimes, he thought he saw hints of... Something else amongst the vibrant sky blue that almost blinded him when he looked at it. It wasn't that the light was particularly bright - in fact, the twins were brighter - it was just the aura that it gave off, that made Harry tremble when he saw it.

The bell went, pulling Harry from his thoughts, and he headed to his charms class, along with Draco and Blaise.

•••

After charms, Harry had potions, and since it was only a single period, rather than a double like yesterday, they would be practicing theory, as there wouldn't be enough time to make a potion. Harry had already read about the theory aspect of potions, but somehow having it explained helped to more clearly solidify the concepts in his head.

Of course, Professor Snape was still harsh towards the students, making Harry jump whenever he snapped at someone, but the lesson was interesting nonetheless.

The class drew to an end, and the students began to pack up their things. Harry was getting ready to leave, when he heard professor Snape from across the classroom.

"Mr Potter, stay behind after class." Harry froze. What had he done? He wracked his memory, trying to think of anything he might have done. He knew he had to have done something. He couldn't remember. Did he speak when he wasn't supposed to? No, that was only a rule in the Dursley's house. But what if it was a rule here, too? He remembered kids at his old school getting told off for shouting out. But he didn't shout out, he only ever talked quietly to Draco.

He sunk back into his seat, still thinking of all the things he could have done. Not that it mattered, he was going to be punished regardless. But this was a school, he had never been punished at school. But it's a new school, and maybe it's different here. The classroom door shut, and Harry jumped slightly, as he suddenly realised everyone else had left. He was alone in a room with a man, and there was no way this could end well. It never ended well. His breathing started speeding up, like when you're running down a hill and you start stumbling, almost falling, but you can't stop yourself and you keep getting faster and faster and-

"-Potter." Harry snapped his eyes up, realising he had missed whatever professor Snape had just said. He felt his stomach crawl, lowering his eyes again to focus on the professor's hands, not daring to look up any higher. He didn't know what he should do. Should he just say that he wasn't listening? He'd probably be punished for that. But, would it be any safer to just stay silent? Harry couldn't see a way out. He worried his lip, anxiously waiting to see what would happen.

Professor Snape finally spoke again. "You would do well to listen to me next time, Mr. Potter."

"Yes sir." Harry quickly responded, his words blurring together with his nerves.

"It has come to my attention that you are in the possession of a snake. Is that rumour true, Mr. Potter?"

Harry took a steadying breath. "Yes, sir."

"You are aware that pets are restricted to an owl, a cat, or a toad, Mr. Potter?"

Part of Harry wanted to say that the wording of the letter technically allowed for other pets, since it never said you couldn't bring animals outside of the allotted three. However, his mind rebelled at the mere thought, screaming at him that it wasn't safe, that the entire situation wasn't safe, that he had to just try to keep himself from getting hurt.

"Yes, professor."

"And what, exactly, compelled you to break this rule?"

"Well, I- I just saw him and I'd never had a pet before and he was really nice." Harry blurted, all the while coaxing Jormungand out from where he was hidden beneath Harry's robes. The snake hissed a little in complaint, not at all happy to be exposed to the cold air of the classroom. He curled up in Harry's lap, demanding that since Harry made him come out from the warmth of his chest, he at least pet him.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, how you knew that a snake was nice. Last time I checked it's rather difficult to judge the personality of reptiles."

"I can talk to him." Harry spoke quietly, just barely above a whisper, but the stone walls of the classroom carried his voice, making it sound clearly across to the professor.

Snape leaned back in his chair, moving his hands from where he had held them together on the desk. "You're telling me-" the potions master paused, leaving Harry practically squirming under his scrutinizing glare, "-That you can speak parseltounge."

The way that the professor spoke made it sound more like a statement than a question, laced with sarcastic disbelief. Harry just nodded numbly, his eyes downcast to look at the almost black blob that was attached to Jormungand. He was trying to focus on figuring out how even though it was so dark, it still seemed to act like light, in some perplexing way. He was also still listening to professor Snape, trying to find a way to balance listening and attempting not to freak out.

There was a long moment of silence. "I find it rather hard to believe you, Mr. Potter, and even in the unlikely event that you are telling the truth, I wouldn't be able to allow you to keep him."

For the first time in the conversation, Harry raised his head and looked into the professor's eyes. "Please, sir. Please don't take him away from me." Words were rushing from Harry's mouth now, his eyes glossy with unshead tears at the thought of being alone again. Of course he had Draco and Blaise and the twins, but they didn't know about him. Only Jormungand knew. He was the only one Harry had ever told. "It's just- I find it really hard sometimes to stay calm when there's loads of people, a- and he really helps-"

Harry bit his tongue, not knowing quite where he was going with what he'd been saying. He dropped his eyes back down to his lap, wiping a sleeve beneath his glasses and praying he could stop himself from crying. Every time he had enjoyed something, weather it was clothing or just a pebble, the Dursleys would rip it away from him. He had foolishly thought that the same wouldn't happen with Jormungand. He could feel the snake climbing up his body, could feel every one of the spines on his back as they bumped past the hand he had rested on him. Black scales slid smoothly up his chest, a blunt nose bumping his cheek, and a tongue flicking below his eyes, trying to help wipe away his tears.  
  
"Calm down, Mr. Potter, I'm not going to kill him." The professor's dryly sarcastic voice cut through the air.

Harry nodded, trying to control his breathing.

"Now, if you can truly speak to your snake, can you get it to curl up on the table in front of you."

Harry nodded again, shakily stroking a hand down the serpent in question's back.

_"J- Jormungand, could you pleasssse curl up on the table for me?"_

_"Why, Harry-sssspeaker?"_

_"Professssor Sssnape wantsss me to prove I am a sssspeaker."_

_"Fine. But I expect you to put me sssomewhere warm after thisss. It'sss freezing out here."_

Harry nodded, and the snake turned his head, sliding his body up onto the table, seemingly defying gravity as his coils lifted up smoothly over the edge of the desk. Jormungand curled up into a tight ball on the table, grumbling about how cold it was and swearing revenge on this _"Sssnape perssson"_ for making him do this.

"So you really can talk to snakes."

Harry nodded again, biting his lip slightly in apprehension for the professor's verdict.

"And you say he helps you in social situations? What do you mean by that?"

"W- well, I always found it hard making fr- friends when I was younger, so I was often on my own. I just n- never got used to large crowds." It was technically half true. Dudley had always beat up anyone who spoke to him in school, which meant nobody wanted to be his friend. The part about crowds was less because he was unused to them, and more because he was terrified that any one of the people within it could be dangerous to him.

"I see. Is that why you left so abruptly at lunch yesterday?"

A nod.

"So if he hadn't been there, you would have handled it badly?"

He nodded once more, although he thought that he handled it badly to begin with.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, professor Snape finally spoke again. "Perhaps I can make an exception, since your snake so obviously helps you."

Harry raised his head to look at the professor for a second time, his face lighting up with a wide smile. "T- thank you! I-" professor Snape raised a hand to silence him.

"Of course, it can't be as simple as that. I will have to speak to the headmaster about this. He may be harder than I was to convince."

Harry's face fell. He understood, of course, but he had so hoped that he would just be able to keep his snake.

"Now I've kept you long enough. I'll give you a note for your next class."

"Okay."

Just as Harry was leaving, he paused. "Sir?" He turned, to see the professor, already apparently back to working on something at his desk.

"Yes?"

"Thank you anyway." Harry didn't wait for a reply, just slipping out and shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Snape to appear more likeable than he did in the originals, and I'll make sure to explain his thoughts and his reasoning later.
> 
> Timetable for Thursday is:
> 
> Charms with Ravenclaw  
> Potions with Gryffindor  
> Transfiguration with Ravenclaw  
> Lunch  
> Flying with Gryffindor  
> Herbology with Hufflepuff
> 
> They don't have flying yet, but it starts slightly later in the year.


	14. The Dispute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, but we finally get to meet the Headmaster.
> 
> I hope I wrote Severus well. I tried to make him suitably snarky, in any case.

Severus didn't know what to make of Harry Potter. When he'd first seen the boy, he had sneered as he noticed he wore the same thickly rimmed round glasses as James always had. When that same boy had been sorted into Slytherin, the entire hall had fallen into shocked silence. When Draco Malfoy, of all people, had started clapping, glaring at his fellow classmates to do the same, Severus hadn't know what to think. He, like everyone else, had assumed that Harry Potter would be a perfect little carbon copy of his father, a Gryffindor dunderhead and an entitled brat.

He was anything but. The more Severus saw the boy, the more he realised he was far more like Lily than like James, despite inheriting most of his sire's appearance. He worked hard in class, he never shouted out or made the same violent ruckus as his father.

But it was the snake that really shocked him. Not just the fact that a Potter, a member of the notoriously light family which had been in Gryffindor for generations was a parceltounge, but also the way he held onto the snake was as if it were the most precious thing in the world to him. Severus still didn't know what truly compelled him to allow the Potter boy to keep his pet. Maybe it was his fear at the prospect of it being taken from him, or perhaps the way he scrambled over his words, so desperate to find a reason - any reason - for him to be allowed to keep it. But it was probably his eyes, that looked far too much like his mother's and managed to incur all the guilt and regret he felt when he saw her for the last time.

It didn't matter now, anyway, but he'd be damned if he walked out of the Headmaster's office without getting his way. He owed it to Lily, if nothing else. That's what he told himself, at least, ignoring the alarm bells going off in his head.

Unfortunately, Slytherin tended to attract the majority of children with... unsavoury pasts and home lives. Severus refused to recognise the warning signs he had seen in the Potter boy. He was the boy-who-lived, for Merlin's sake. He probably grew up pampered and believing he deserved to have everything in life handed to him. And being sorted into Slytherin could mean other things - what if he was just putting on an act to get what he wanted?

Severus stopped in his tracks. That would make sense. He was probably only acting the way he was in order to gain sympathy from his peers, so that he could manipulate them. The potions master nodded to himself, trying to convince himself that he believed the story he was weaving in some frantic attempt to alleviate his conscience, to reaffirm the assumptions he had made about who James Potter's child would be.

But he was Lily's child, too. Severus cursed himself quietly, and continued walking towards Dumbledore's office. He would let events play out, and try to figure out just who Potter really was. For now, he had a snake to argue about.

•••

"I quite understand, Severus, but I don't think it would be a good idea for the boy to have a snake."

Severus already felt exhausted just from speaking to the Headmaster, but he pushed on regardless.

"It appears that young Mr. Potter has had some trouble with settling in at Hogwarts. I believe that he may have social anxiety, or at least some lesser form of it. Many people who suffer from such things have animals to help them cope with their anxiety." The potions master was feeling frustrated, to say the least. Dumbledore had a certain way of twisting your own words against you that was damn near unavoidable. It was like a battle of wits just holding a conversation with him, never mind having a debate.

"Are you sure you are not just playing favourites? I know you tend to favour your Slytherins."

"Favouritism has nothing to do with it, Albus. Besides, he's James Potter's son - we both know I'd more likely be biased against him."

"Yes, yes, you are quite right." He paused as if in contemplation. Others may have taken this as a sign that they were winning the argument. Severus knew the ridiculous old fool simply had a love of theatrics. "Still, it doesn't seem a good idea to allow a poisonous snake to roam free within the school, I wouldn't think."

"Snakes are venomous, not poisonous, and the same could be said about a certain pair of twins. Merlin knows they're far more of a threat than a snake. You also appear to have conveniently forgotten that the Potter boy is a parselmouth, therefore he would be able to keep control of the snake."

"What if the snake decides not to listen to him?"

"Your memory appears to be fading in your old age, considering you've also forgotten that there is a Cerberus currently inside the school, when any foolish Gryffindor dunderhead could decide to go and look in the room where it's contained, not to mention that the school itself is next to a forest filled with deadly creatures. From my perspective, a snake is the least of our worries."

"That does not change the fact that it is against the rules to have any let but an owl, a cat or a toad. If you let one student become an exception, it won't be long before everyone is being allowed to break that rule, and by that point it would barely even be a rule."

"If you were to re-read the letter that went out to first years, you may notice that it does not specifically say that those are the only pets allowed."

Dumbledore sighed. Inwardly, Severus rejoiced. Outwardly, he was very much aware that he was still locked in a verbal duel with the Headmaster.

"You're not going to give this up, are you, Severus?" The man sounded as tired of their stalemate as Severus felt.

"It would appear not."

"Fine. I shall allow the boy to keep his snake, but any mishaps fall to you, Severus."

"Indeed. Well then, Professor, I won't take up any more of your time. I will inform Mr. Potter of your decision. I'm sure he'll be ecstatic." Severus turned to leave, his voice as dryly sarcastic as ever, despite having won the dispute.

"Take care, Severus, my boy." Severus promptly left, not bothering to return the farewell, and leaving Dumbledore seething at not having got his way. Already, his mind was working on some way to get rid of the snake. He needed control over the boy, and if he were happy, it would be far harder to manipulate him.


	15. The Headmaster

Friday came, and with it the second letter Harry had ever received. Granted, this one wasn't delivered by an owl, but rather, a funny little creature Draco called a house elf. It was only when Harry opened it that his face went pale and his hands began to shake. It was from the Headmaster. Telling him to come to his office after dinner.

He didn't know why he was so afraid. He had heard a lot of other students saying that Professor Snape scared them, but almost everyone either liked Professor Dumbledore, or was slightly annoyed by him. Harry was far more afraid now than when the infamous dungeon bat had asked him to stay behind after class.

"Harry? You okay?" Harry looked up to see Blaise looking at him, a worried frown on his face.

"Y- yeah. I'm fine." He stuttered out, his voice wavering unconvincingly.

"You sure? Who's the letter from?"

"Professor Dumbledore. He's asking me to go to his office at dinner."

"Did he say why?"

Harry shook his head no, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Hey," Harry looked to his left to see Draco, looking at him with gentle concern. "Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry just trembled, his mouth staying firmly shut. He didn't think he could speak right now even if he wanted to - his old instincts from the Dursleys were telling him he had to stay silent.

"It's okay, Harry," Blaise reassured him, "look, whatever it's about, you won't be in trouble. You haven't done anything."

Draco was nodding along, smiling slightly at Harry. "See, there's nothing to worry about. I couldn't even imagine you breaking a rule, so there's no way you're in trouble."

"T- thanks, guys." Harry offered a shaky smile of his own, his hand automatically reaching up to pet Jormungand. Of course he didn't break rules - breaking the rules only ever ended in pain. Of course, one way or another, he would end up in pain anyway. He shook the dark thoughts from his mind, focusing on his timetable to see what subjects he had that day.

•••

The day started with Herbology, which they took with the Hufflepuffs. Harry quite enjoyed classes with the badgers, because they didn't glare at him like the lions, or make him feel even more stupid than he knew he was like the eagles. Unfortunately, the other four classes on Fridays were split between the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Harry supposed he would just have to try to deal with it.

It wasn't an easy day. Professor Binns drove even the studios eagles to boredom, and left everyone wondering if perhaps this class would be better spent catching up on lost sleep. Defence came, along with the usual pulsing headache and hard glares from the red and gold side of the classroom. Harry was having a hard time even focusing on words, trying his hardest to keep his pitiful whimpers contained, knowing what would happen if he made a noise. What always happened if he made a noise.

Lunch was a welcome break, although the smell of rich food sickened him. Draco and Blaise practically forced him to eat, threatening to set Pansy or even the twins on him if he didn't.

Transfiguration was calm enough, but Harry struggled with the spellwork while everyone else seemed to be picking it up flawlessly. It left him with a pit of frustration in his stomach, and more than a little self-loathing at how stupid he was to not even manage a simple piece of magic. He was tempted to try with his blackthorn wand - he'd been using the holly one for classwork thus far, having decided it would be the more accepted one - but knew better than to show everyone his dual wands.

Potions finally saved him from having to repeatedly embarrass himself in front of his friends with feeble attempts at what they made seem like child's play. Harry smiled as he remembered the conversation he had with Professor Snape on Thursday evening. He'd been ecstatic at his allowance to keep Jormungand, and awed that the Professoor had really spoken to the Headmaster for him. Most people would have said something like that, and then conveniently forgot the instance he left the room.

They were doing theory again today, and Harry loved the logical way that potions worked, while also allowing for creativity. It reminded him of the science experiments they sometimes did in muggle school, and also of cooking. He found himself a lot less afraid of Professor Snape now that he had gone so far as to make sure he could keep his pet - and he didn't even hurt him when they were alone in the classroom! He found himself confused as to why the man hadn't just used him like everyone else, but he was by no means complaining.

When the darkly dressed Professor walked past his and Draco's desk, he nodded in approval at their work. They had been tasked with answering questions from heavy old textbooks, and Harry was doing his very best to write neatly, although quills were far more difficult to write with than pencils. Harry all but beamed at the slight recognition of his hard work, managing to tone his expression down into a smile after a second of open mouthed grinning.

As the class ended, Harry felt the pit of dread that had been clawing at his stomach all day become a gaping chasm, the claws razor-sharp knives of stabbing fear. He knew that after dinner he was to face the Headmaster.

•••

As it was, he was barely hungry at dinnertime anyway, years of starvation having trained his stomach to only expect food every few days. Now, with the threat of having to go to Professor Dumbledore's office looming over him, what little appetite he did have disappeared. He couldn't eat, not with the familiar sick feeling of all-consuming terror ripping his insides to shreds. He felt bile in his throat already, and knew he would throw up if he were made to eat.

It was almost like a defence mechanism, he supposed. With the unthinkable certainty of - Harry felt dizzy with fear and disgust just thinking it - of _that_ , it would be easier if there was nothing in his digestive tract. He didn't know quite why that was; perhaps simply because he was so used to the heavy feeling of hunger weighing down on him being associated with the things Vernon did to him, or maybe it was just because he was less likely to throw up, which had always angered his uncle further.

Pulling away from his morbid thoughts, he excused himself from the table, heading towards where the letter had told him the Headmaster's office was, hidden behind a large stone statue of a gargoyle.

"Acid Pops." Harry said the password quietly, flinching backwards as the gargoyle moved to reveal a spiral staircase. Harry took a steadying breath, before stepping onto the stairs, which promptly started moving, the gargoyle shifting back into place, leaving him with the horrible feeling of being trapped. He was raised up to face a door. This must be the entrance. Harry knocked softly, and the door opened of its own accord. After a moment of silence, Harry took a few shaky steps into the spacious room, looking around nervously.

The office was a large, circular room, with shelves piled high with books, and moving portraits lining the walls. A desk sat towards the back of the room, two mirrored staircases curving around behind it. Between them was another portrait of Professor Dumbledore, the current headmaster. This one was perfectly still, waiting grimly for the day the old wizard died. Upon a perch next to the desk sat a beautiful bird. Its plumage was like rusty gold, and even although it seemed to have shed a few of it's feathers, it was still one of the most majestic creatures Harry had ever seen. Besides Jormungand, of course.

"He's a phoenix." Harry jumped as he heard a voice from the top of the stairs, stumbling a few steps back and almost falling. Jormungand tightened himself around the boy, but managed to withhold from threatening the Headmaster.

"Magnificent birds. When the die, they light on fire, and are reborn from the ashes." The Professor paused for a moment, seemingly expecting an answer. When he got none, he proceeded down the stairs, making no mention of how Harry followed his every move with wide, frightened eyes, or how he almost tripped over himself to get away, how he was still backing away step by step. For Harry, that set off far more alarm bells than acknowledging his nervousness would have.

"Come, take a seat." There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as Professor Dumbledore gestured to one of the two seats on Harry's side of the desk, before Harry finally moved from where he had backed up almost to the wall, and gingerly sat on the edge of the seat. The Professor sat opposite him, his blue eyes twinkling . Harry couldn't help but see his gleefully shining eyes as malicious.

"Lemon drop?" He offered, holding out a bowl filled with yellow boiled sweets. Harry stared at the sweets with creeping suspicion gradually building in his mind; it would be far from the first time someone had offered him something only to pull it away and laugh at him. Eventually the arm lowered the bowl back to the table, and Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Well, they're there if you want any. Anyway, I asked you to come here today because I wanted to talk about your snake." Harry stiffened. Hadn't Professor Snape already convinced Headmaster Dumbledore to let him keep Jormungand?

"I know that yesterday I spoke to Severus, and agreed to let you keep it, but I really don't think it's a good idea to have it in the school."

"Please sir, he's not going to hurt anyone. I'll keep him under control." Harry spoke quietly, afraid if he raised his voice too high he would begin crying. He had so hoped to just keep his snake and keep out of the way. Silence had once again settled over the office like a low hanging cloud.

"Tell me, Harry my boy, do you remember the night your parents died?" Harry blinked dumbly, confused by the sudden change of subject.

"...No sir." He did, of course, remember a flash of green light, manic laughter and a piercing pain in his forehead. For some reason, he didn't want to share any of that with Professor Dumbledore.

"Good, good. It would be _awful_ if anything had happened to leave you traumatised." And Harry froze, because he recognized that cruelly sarcastic tone from the vulgar jokes Vernon would make about all the things he did to Harry.  
Harry froze, because in a split second of shock, he met the Headmaster's eye. Behind his half-moon glasses, they were cold.


	16. The Fear

Harry was rooted to the spot. He could feel his throat seizing up, and found himself gasping for air, somehow unable to fill his lungs despite the rapid breaths he was taking. Pins and needles tingled down his arms, black spots dancing in his vision. Sobs spilled from his lips along with the tears already running down his cheeks. All the rules drilled into him by the Dursleys came rushing back to him; don't talk, don't get the house dirty, don't get better grades than Dudley, don't go on furniture-

Suddenly Harry could move again. He shot off the chair as if it had burned him, tripping over his own feet and landing hard on his back. He sat up, pushing himself backwards until he collided with the wall.

"Sorry. Sorry, 'm sorry." Harry managed to choke out frantic apologies even as he continued to have a full blown panic attack. He was curled up in the foetal position, Jormungand draped over him hissing almost as frantically, trying to calm him down.

Across the room, Dumbledore stood up, walking confidently around his desk towards them. Jormungand reared his head, his entire being quaking with rage. He didn't understand everything that was going on - even with his knowledge, English sounded unnatural and nonsensical to his ears - but he did know that the white-bearded man walking towards them had threatened his human. He hissed, long and low and dangerous, nothing like the short warnings he had given to the pathetic child his Harry had called "Ron." No, the sounds he made now were declarations of war; this idiotic, bumbling fool had dared to attack a speaker under the protection of a snake with the blood of the Ancient Ones. Didn't he have a single clue who Harry was? For one as old as the wizard descending on them, he truly was an imbecile. That, or he had a shocking, unforgivable disregard for the Ways.

The snake was interrupted from his fury by a bolt of magic flying in his direction. He dodged it swiftly, his slick black scales shimmering in the red light of the spell. If the Headmaster, as his little speaker had called him, thought he was foolish enough as to allow him to land a hit, he was very much mistaken. Jormungand was centuries this man's elder, despite his diminutive size for one such as himself. He wasn't going to make the stupid mistakes of a younger serpent.

He circled the man, never drawing close enough to bite, always deterred by erratically cast spells. Midway through the fight, the man turned on the spot, facing straight away from Jormungand. For a moment, the snake was confused. He hesitated, only seeing the wand was pointed at his Harry at the last moment. Doing the only thing he could, he flung himself forwards, getting himself in between Harry and his aggressor mere milliseconds before the wand shone bright with another spell. It hit Jormungand right on top of his heart, and his body went stiff. He fell to the floor with an unceremonious thump. The room dipped into near slilence, broken sobs sounding like thunder in the quiet, as they spilled uncontrollably from the tiny boy curled up against the wall. Jormungand had failed him.

•••

Harry only became aware of his surroundings again when his head was yanked up harshly by a hand pulling tightly in his hair.

"I'm going to get straight to the point, Freak." Oh. He wasn't Harry right now? Wasn't he at school? His terrified and confused mind didn't seem reliable, though, because that didn't sound like Uncle Vernon, and only Uncle Vernon called him Freak in that hateful way. He still had his glasses on, but he couldn't look up to see who it was - he wasn't supposed to look up unless he was told to, he was supposed to mind his place.

The hand in his hair yanked again. Did Vernon want to use Freak right now? He did say he was going to get straight to the point.

"Look at me." Freak stiffened at that. Vernon almost never told Freak to look at him, and certainly not when he was sober. He had to follow orders, but if he had misheard, he would get a beating for being disrespectful.

The hand moved to his chin, forcing his head up. "I said look at me, boy." He flicked his eyes up, meeting with the cold icy blue of Professor Dumbledore's eyes. He finally realised where he was. At about the same time, he realised that the Headmaster had called him Freak, that he knew about the Dursleys. His mind started racing, and he began to panic all over again. How much did he know? Did he know about his cupboard? About the scars? Oh god, did he know that Vernon-

Freak felt like he was about to be sick, not fully understanding why he was Freak and not Harry, even though he was in school.

"Are you listening to me?" Dumbledore asked him. Freak was torn. If he had been Harry right now he would have answered yes, but he was Freak, and Freak wasn't allowed to speak. He wasn't a human, so making human sounds was unacceptable.

"Answer me when I ask you a question, boy." That was the second time Dumbledore had called him boy. What if he just became boy, instead of Freak? Boy could be a human - like a mix between Freak and Harry. He could be allowed to talk and break Freak's rules, but still carry the burdens of abuse for Harry. Yes, that would work.

"Yessir." Boy answered quietly.

"Good. Now, as I said before, let me get straight to the point. I know everything that the Dursleys have done to you. I'm the one who placed you there, after all. So unless you want the entire school knowing what a eager little slut you are for your uncle, you will do exactly as I say."

Boy shuddered in disgust and fear. He knew his friends would hate him if they knew how many men had bent him over like an obedient bitch and done what they liked with him. He could already see Draco's lip curl in repulsion as he learnt that Freak had never even attempted to fight back, simply letting them use him like a whore. He could imagine Blaise glaring at him with disdain as he saw the mess of scars on Freak's back, put there from years of punishment that ranged from the long burn mark that ran the length of his body on the left side, earned when he burnt the dinner on Dudleys fourth birthday, to the numerous belt marks accumulated from every time he was late getting out of his cupboard in the morning.

With all these thoughts running rampant through his head, all Boy could do was nod.

"Since you ruined my plans by getting yourself placed in Slytherin, I've had to resort to plan B. It would have been so much easier for you if you'd just been in Gryffindor, but alas. As you'd obviously decided you didn't like me already, I've decided it would be easier simply to make you fear me. So here's the deal. You will have to do exactly as I tell you, and in return, I won't let everyone in on your little secret."

Boy could only nod dumbly. Now the initial shock has worn off, he was even more terrified that before. Dumbledore stood up from where he had been crouched in front of Boy, still managing to tower over him even then. With his body out of the way, Boy spotted something laying abandoned on the floor. Looking closer, the blood drained from his face as he realised what it was.

"I-is that..." Boy spoke quietly, his voice trembling even more than Harry's usually did. Dumbledore smirked. The expression was cold, predatory. For once, Harry didn't care about the danger associated with shouting.

"W-WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?" He yelled, louder than he had ever done in his life. He slapped his hand over his mouth almost before he had even finished his sentence. He cringed, devastated tears already spilling down his face. He knew he was in for it now.

"Don't shout at me, boy." The words were almost growled, and anyone who knew the Headmaster would have been shocked at how different he was from his usual grandfatherly facade. "And as for the snake, I deposed of it."

Boy began to sob properly now. He didn't want to look, but he couldn't seem to draw his eyes away from Jormungand's corpse. His snake lay awkwardly on the ground, his coils bent at uncomfortable angles, as if he had died mid strike. His eyes, normally bright and sharp, were dull, staring off into nothing. There were no physical marks on him, and if not for his posture and unnatural stillness, you might have thought he was still alive.

"It's your fault it's dead, you know. If only you could have followed the rules, it never would have had to die."

That was all it took for the tiny Slytherin to break down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I do this. I almost made myself cry. God damn it.


	17. The Misgivings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like leaving you guys hanging for a little while longer, so have this, nice, calm little chapter from Blaise's point of view. On the plus side, he's beginning to suspect something.

Blaise was laying down on his bed, almost an hour after dinner. The other boys were all through in the common room - Draco had been challenged to a game of Wizard's Chess. That left Blaise alone in their form room, but he didn't mind. He quite enjoyed the piece and quiet.

However, he wasn't enjoying it as much as usual today. Normally, he could have sat for hours, reading or studying alone. But his mind was filled with worry. Over what? Harry Potter.

Harry was nothing like what anybody had been expecting. Most would describe him as quiet, hard-working, and somewhat awkward, with a habitual stutter. Blaise would describe him as withdrawn, terrified of people and especially adults, and afraid to speak in case he said something wrong.

He didn't understand how nobody else seemed to recognize the way that Harry acted as wrong. Not that he was in the wrong for acting that way in the first place, but that he shouldn't have felt the need to act the way he did. People had called Harry a little odd, or unusual, but they all brushed off his nervous behaviour like it was nothing. Even Professor Snape seemed determined to write it off as simply social anxiety.

Blaise knew that kind of survival-driven way of acting could only be born out of years of fear. His own life had lead him to act that way for many years, although he masked it in public, far more aware of his actions than Harry. It was only two years ago that Blaise had finally started to break loose of that fear.

His mother was what one could call a serial romantic. She moved from person to person quickly, always seeking the thrill of a new relationship. Although well known for her habits, she still got a fair amount of men flocking to her, because of her beauty. They were often after the same type of fling as she was, moving from holding hands to making out in a matter of days.

That left Blaise sitting on the sidelines, never able to fully relax, knowing the instance life began to find a steady rhythm, his mother would be on the search for somebody else, bored of her current lover, and they would be on the move again. So he always kept his bags half-packed, ready for a sudden change in location.

The men she got into relationships with never tended to expect her to have a kid. They would glare at him with disdain like he was an annoying insect buzzing around their heads. Most of the time, he would stay quiet and out of the way. Often, he would spend his days at Malfoy Manor. Before his mother had divorced his abusive father, they had been a respectable pureblood family. But their marriage had been the direct result of his mother's pregnancy. It had been five years before she'd finally had enough. It had been hell.

He was looking for someone to beat up, and abuse for his pleasure. She slipped into an unhealthy cycle of alcoholism. Blaise had simply tried to avoid his father, and comforted his mother when she was sober.

Sometimes, her boyfriends would beat him up. Blaise could deal with that. He knew first aid. He could patch himself up and use his mother's wand to heal the worst of the damage.

It was only two years ago, when she met a rich pureblooded Lord, that things had changed. He had demanded that if she wished to stay with him, she would have to leave Blaise behind. In her state of inebriation, she had agreed. He had been living with the Malfoys ever since.

•••

The door slamming open pulled blaise from his admittedly grim reflection on his life. Draco stormed in, flopping angrily down into his bed with a sound like a dying cat.

"I swear, Nott must be cheating somehow. There's no way he could beat me ten times in a row if he wasn't. I'm amazing at Wizard's Chess, right Crabbe, Goyle?" Draco looked like a grumpy cat, as well as sounding like one. The two boys in the doorway nodded in exaggerated sympathy, smirking at Draco's antics. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Don't lie. I know you're only agreeing to shut me up." Draco pouted immaturely.

"Why did you ask us if you weren't going to like the answer?" Vincent said, Gregory nodding in agreement. He had a point. The pair were in fact smarter than everyone assumed they were. Sure, Vincent could barely read and write, and Gregory had abysmal social skills, but they weren't stupid, and they built off each other, making each other stronger.

"Because he's insecure and needs validation from his peers." Blaise piped up.

"Ugh, Blaaiiisssseeeee! I hate yoouuu." Draco whined like a five-year-old.

"Oh, shut up you stubborn banshee. You're just mad you lost and don't want to admit Theo is better than you at something."

"That's because he's not better than me."

"Mmm hmm. Sure."

"Whatever. It doesn't count anyway, because I know he must have cheated. Anyway, do you know where Harry is? I haven't seen him since dinner."

"He had a meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore, remember?" Draco frowned as Blaise spoke.

"I'd forgotten about that. Shouldn't he be back by now?" Blaise shrugged in response. He didn't know why Harry wasn't back yet, and it was worrying him. He sighed heavily. Vincent and Gregory had left the room, and Blaise contemplated how exactly to talk to Draco about his concerns for Harry.

"Draco-" Blaise cut himself off. How could be explain to someone like Draco, who had grown up in luxury, what his childhood was like? What Harry's might still be like? He couldn't find the words to even begin.

"What?"

"It's- it's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing." Draco sat up on his bed, looking worriedly at Blaise. "Come on, you can tell me." He prompted.

"Just forget it."

"Blaise-"

"-No, Draco. Just forget I said anything, okay?" Blaise knew he'd probably have to tell Draco eventually, but not yet. Draco looked dejected, but he didn't push the issue.

"Anyway, I'm sure Harry will be back soon. Dumbledore can't keep him after curfew."

"Yeah... But he doesn't sleep well, and being up so late won't help." Draco didn't comment on the rapid change of subject . "He usually falls asleep straight after dinner."

"Mm. Hopefully he'll be back sooner rather than later, then." Blaise knew he sounded distracted, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had an awful feeling in his gut, like something terrible was about to happen.


	18. The Discovery

"Why don't you come and take a seat." It wasn't a suggestion. Freak knew he wasn't supposed be sit on a chair, Harry wanted nothing more than to obey and avoid punishment, and Boy didn't know what to do. But he had to do something. Flicking his eyes up, he saw Headmaster Dumbledore looking down at him impatiently. He decided to follow the command.

Standing on thin, shaking legs, he felt sick as he forced himself to walk past Jormungand's rigid body. He sat gingerly on the edge of the seat, poised to run if need be. He knew already that he wasn't going to run - he'd had that instinct thoroughly beaten out of him - but despite that, he still felt the urge to ready himself for flight.

Dumbledore walked slowly, confidently, around the desk and to his seat once again. Boy watched his every move, his quick eyes and nervous disposition all the more evident in stark contrast to the man.

"Now. As I have already said, you have put a bit of a kink in my plans. Therefore, I've had to alter them a little. I can't resort you; people would be suspicious if I were to take that route. Besides, the damage is already done, and you can never truly be a symbol of Gryffindor. People won't forget that you were a Slytherin first. However, I wouldn't be able to simply continue as I would have ideally done. So I decided simply to reveal this to you; the Dursleys have done their job well, I know you would never dare oppose someone who knows what a freak you are, isn't that right, boy?"

"Yes sir." Boy replied in hushed tones.

"Good. Now, onto my deal. You will do exactly as I tell you to, no questions asked, and I will refrain from telling every single person in this school just how freakish you really are. Do you understand?"

Boy nodded, his slight frame trembling, the ice of the Professor's words chilling him to the bone.

"Well, you're not entirely stupid then. Let's see... As I have you here, and you no longer have that pesky snake to protect you... How about I have some fun?"

Boy froze even stiffer at those words. He'd been dreading this. Dreading it from the moment he walked into the office. He could feel yet more tears burning in his eyes, and choked back a strangled sob. Even so, he slid off the chair and instead he kneeled down on the floor, a small way away from the desk. Freak had learnt very quickly that the more willing he was and the less he struggled, the less pain he would be put through. He still stiffened when Dumbledore stood up, still had to fight to keep himself still and passive.

He flinched as a hand touched his head, pushing him firmly forwards onto all fours. He felt his body jerk and tremble as he sobbed as silently as he could, every fibre of his being screaming at him to just get up and run. Running never helped. There was the quiet sound of his tears hitting the floor, perfect little spherical droplets forming, and melding together as they touched. It was entirely unfair for them to look so beautiful.

Dumbledore was moving slowly, and far too intimately. Freak preferred it when his uncle would just yank his trousers down and use him. He could numb his mind to that. But the pseudo-caring way he was being purposefully violated made him feel so much more a part of what was happening to him. He hated this feeling - the way his skin would crawl at the touches, how he had time to truly process what the man above him was doing. He sucked in his breath as he felt a hand finally slip inside the waistband of his trousers. He was shaking like a leaf at this point, jerking and twitching away from the Headmaster even though he knew he couldn't escape.

Suddenly, a noise from behind them made Dumbledore stop moving entirely, going quite stiff.

"Shit." The quiet utterance prompted Freak to look. What he saw made him sob in sheer relief.

Jormungand's eyes were glowing red, the cracks between his scales glowing the same violent hue. It almost looked like he was set on fire from the inside. He was hissing lowly, glaring at Professor Dumbledore with murderous intent. Harry didn't know how his snake was alive. It didn't matter. He was saved. Dumbledore stood up sharply, and Harry got back up on his knees.

"Call your snake off." The man growled. Harry complied, not wanting to face the consequences of disobedience.

 _"Jormungand, don't attack him."_ His snake hissed in angered disbelief.

_"You can't be ssseriousss? After what he did to you, you don't want me to end hisss missserable life?!"_

_"Pleassse, Jormungand. Pleassse, you can't. He'll tell them. He'll tell all of them what a ssslutty, freakisssh good-for-nothing whore I am."_

_"You wouldn't get in trouble for that, little hatchling. Nobody would punisssh you. They would get him and that fucking monssster Vernon you told me about in trouble, not you."_ The serpent sounded sad. He was almost pleading for Harry to just let him help him.

_"Pleassse, they can't know. They would hate me."_

Jormungand finally, reluctantly, slithered over to Harry, and he cradled the snake in his arms. His scales and eyes had returned to their usual dark colouration. He was still quietly swearing at Dumbledore, glaring at him threateningly the entire time.

"I guess I should have accounted for the snake's abilities; I didn't think it would be strong enough to break a spell like that." Dumbledore said calmly. "Well, I guess we can just go from here. I was planning on making it a part of our deal, anyway. Along with not telling them about what a freak you are-" Jormungand hissed loudly at that "-I will allow you to keep it. If you break the deal, I really will kill him."

Harry could only nod, still just so relieved that his friend was alive, and that he had escaped this encounter unscathed.

"I'm feeling generous, so you can leave now. You should be grateful that I'm not inclined to continue where we left off."

"Th- th- thank you, sir." Harry left quickly, as fast as he possibly could without running.

As soon as the door shut, Dumbledore cancelled the silencing charms he had cast upon the portraits of the previous Headmasters. A loud cacophony of noise instantly broke out. They were yelling at him, cussing him, and Dumbledore just smiled. He had cast charms that made anything that went on in this room impossible for the portraits to repeat. He walked up the steps to his quarters, a barely noticeable clenching of his teeth the only indication of his frustration.

•••

Harry knew he couldn't return to the Slytherin dorms, not yet. Not in his state. So instead, he went to one of the boy's bathrooms, sobbing when he was finally alone. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his knife. Purely out of habit, he carried it everywhere with him. He looked down at the blade in his hands, yet more tears threatening to spill at the sight. It was a pocket knife, and he always kept it razor sharp. He felt uncertain whether or not it was safe here, for him to cut. It was certainly more likely for him to be discovered. He flipped the blade back into it's case, tucking it away in his pocket.

 _"Jormungand?"_ Harry could feel curiosity pulling at him, and he needed to know.

_"Yesss, child?"_

_"How did you come back to life like that?"_

_"I wasss never dead. The ssspell he cassst on me wasss one to immobilize me - I sssaw everything. I'm sssorry I wasssn't able to break the bondsss and help you earlier."_

_"Oh. That makesss more sssenssse than you having actually died."_

Harry spoke for a long time with his snake, clinging to him desperately, as if he might leave again. He sat there until the thought of seeing another human didn't make him retch, and almost throw up. Only then did he make his way back to the common room.

It was a long time after the nine-o-clock curfew, and Harry's muddled mind couldn't remember the password. Jormungand told him to simply tell the door to open in Parseltounge. The door opened instantly, and Harry stumbled back to the dorm.

Despite knowing he should sleep, his legs carried him unwittingly to the bathroom. He pulled the knife from his pocket, flipping the blade open, looking at the perfectly sharpened edge held within his trembling grasp. He pulled up his sleeve, peeling off blood-soaked bandages and fresh scabs with them. He could see the start of infections; pus leaking out of the wounds and a sickly smell coming from the many cuts that littered his skin. He didn't particularly care at this point - He'd had enough infections that he knew when he should start getting worried. He dragged his blade across his skin, not even trying to find a spot without any new or old scars. He watched in fascination as beads of blood gathered along the new cut like drops of water on a spider's web.

Just then, there was the unmistakable sound of the door opening. Harry turned quickly, dropping his knife to the floor in horrified fear. Blaise was standing, mouth parted slightly in shock, in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no way I could really kill the snek. Who am I kidding, he has to stay alive. The spell the Dumb Old Door used on him was petrificus totalus, which is why Jormungand was so stiff, because the spell basically petrifies the victim, except that there's a counter.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh yeah, the timetable for Fridays is
> 
> Herbology with Hufflepuff  
> History of Magic with Ravenclaw  
> Defence with Gryffindor  
> Transfiguration with Ravenclaw  
> Potions with Gryffindor


	19. The Aftermath

Freak scrambled to pick up his knife, retreating into one of the shower cubicles. He locked the heavy wooden door and slid to the floor with his back against it. He was sobbing, hyperventilating, and the only thought running through his mind was that he knew. He knew, and he definitely hated him now, they all would, he'd tell them, Freak would be sent back to the Dursleys and Vernon would kill him, he'd kill him, he knew he would, and Freak was so fucking sacred even though he knew he deserved to die for being so worthless, even though he tried to kill himself for the first time when he was nine, and again too many times to count, and he shouldn't be afraid but for once in his life he had been happy and he didn't want to die even if it was just for a moment, and he couldn't breathe, why couldn't be breathe, he felt like he was going to faint-

"Harry! Harry, please answer me. Please come out." Blaise's voice reminded Freak of exactly where he was. It also reminded him that Jormungand was curled up on his bed, unable to come and help him. Even though Blaise was his friend - at least, he was. He wouldn't be after this - he wouldn't put it past him to be like the kids who used to bully him. After all, there was nothing stopping him. The thought sent another wave of panic through Freak.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s- so sorry, please don't hurt me, please, I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean to, sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry." Freak chanted out the mantra, despite knowing he wasn't supposed to speak. He was just so scared, and so tired, and he wasn't thinking. He didn't even know what he was apologizing for, but the words felt familiar on Freak's tongue, they felt like words he had said a thousand times before.

There was a flash of light through the cracks in the side of the door, and the latch holding it shut moved, unlocking it. Harry's first instinct was to slam the door shut again, to lock it again, to not let the boy on the other side in. Freak knew that trying to escape, trying to lock doors from the inside, trying to resist only made it so much worse. So he jumped up and backed away from the door, getting out of the way so that Blaise could enter.

Blaise pushed it open quickly, his face looking sick with worry. Was that worry, though? Why would be be worried? No, he couldn't be worried. He was disgusted. That's why he looked sick, because he felt like throwing up at the mere sight of Freak.

"D- don't-" Freak gasped for air, his body screaming for oxygen even as his heart rapidly pulsed, trying desperately to supply his blood with more but his lungs weren't working properly and he felt like he was about to faint still "-Don't look at me, I- I- I- I'm disgusting, I'm fucking disgusting, I don't deserve to live, I should just- should j- just k- ki-"

"Harry." Blaise grabbed his arm, holding him steady, but not crushingly tight. "You need to stop this. Look at me. Look at me, Harry." Freak could feel himself shaking even more than usual as he forced himself to meet Blaise's eyes, sobs rocking him all the while. They were still so warm, like honey, but there was something frighteningly determined about the intent way he was looking at Freak. One of his arms was released, and he let it fall limply at his side. Uncaring of the blood coating his hand, Blaise pulled back his own sleeve on the other arm. On his wrist was a row of cuts.

"The most recent ones are from two weeks ago." He said softly. His arm was far less scarred and bloody than Freak's, but he still had a large collection of scars, carved into his skin in neat rows, rather than the messy, chaotic battlefield Freak had.

"Harry, am I disgusting?" Freak shook his head no, mortified that he would even ask such a question.

"Do I deserve to live?" Freak nodded. "Can you say it out loud please Harry?"

"Y- yes," Blaise was silent, so he continued, "you deserve to live."

"Should I kill myself?"

"No!" Freak flinched at how loud he was. "No."

"I have scars just like you, Harry. I've thought of killing myself, and I've looked in the mirror for so long that I know every single imperfection and blemish that I have. So if I'm not disgusting, and if I don't deserve to die, then neither do you."

"Y- you don't understand. I'm- I'm worthless, I'm fucking worthless, I'm a good-for-nothing freak." He hissed out the last word, almost slipping into Parseltounge.

"Don't call yourself that, Harry, you're not a-"

"I don't deserve to have a name. I'm barely even a human anyway."

"You are a human, don't ever say you're less than one, please, Harry-"

"You don't get it! I'm broken. I'm broken, Blaise. I'm useless, my mind doesn't function how it's supposed to, I should just be thrown away and left to rot because I have no purpose. I-"

"Stop! Stop it. I don't know who told you this rubbish, but it's not true. None of it is true. You're worth just as much as the rest of us. None of us ever thought otherwise, okay?"

"But you didn't know, you still don't know-"

"-And it doesn't matter, because I promise you, nothing is going to change my mind."

Freak broke down into yet more sobs, which turned into loud bawling. He leant himself against Blaise, because he was just so exhausted, and even if he didn't believe him, he wanted to pretend, if just for a moment, that his comforting words were true.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Those cuts are infected- I'll need to treat them before it gets worse."

Blaise left the bathroom to get fresh bandages, leaving Harry leaning against the sinks. He still had his knife, and he wanted so badly to make more marks on his arm. He wasn't sure if it was to alleviate his mental pain, or because he deserved to be in pain constantly, but since leaving the Dursleys, he had become far more frequent in his self-harming. Biting his lip, he pressed the blade against his flesh. For a moment, he wandered if he should just cut a line along one of his arteries and let himself bleed out on the floor. He cut across his wrist, resisting the urge to just end his pathetic excuse for a life already.

The door opened once again, and Harry's head snapped round purely out of nervous habit. Blaise was there, holding clean white bandages, as promised, and his wand. Putting his bundle down on the counter, he gently pried the knife from Harry's grasp, flipping it shut and putting it down out of his reach. He didn't say a word about the fact that Harry had been adding even further to his collection of scars.

"I know some healing magic, so I can heal up the open cuts, and get rid of the infection," he explained, "the new ones won't even leave scars."

"N- no! I need t- th- I need my scars." Harry stumbled over his words, unable to properly explain why he needed the scars on his arms so badly.

"Okay, okay. I'll just stop the infection then."

Blaise was gentle as he cleaned Harry's arm and carefully wrapped it in the soft cloth. He asked to see the other arm, too, and did the same. The right arm wasn't as bad as the left, due to Harry's handedness. He said he'd check the bandages once a week to see if they needed replaced, if that was okay. Harry said it was.

Once they were done, it was almost midnight. Harry was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Before he fell asleep, he managed to remember something.

"Blaise?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

Then Harry was dead to the world.

•••

Blaise carried the sleeping boy through to the other room, moving over to his bed, where Jormungand stuck his triangular head out from under the neatly made sheets.

"Blaise? It that you? What're you doing up so late?" A sleep-heavy voice came from Draco's bed.

"Shh, Draco. Harry's asleep." Blaise replied quietly, overly aware of Harry, shifting restlessly in his arms. He was also extremely glad that the walls were thick, and that none of them appeared to have heard what was going on in the bathroom.

"But why are you up so late?" He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper .

"Can't tell you. I promised him I wouldn't." Draco huffed - Blaise never, ever broke his promises.

"Well there's no point even trying to get you to speak, then. Night, Blaise."

"Night."

Blaise tucked Harry into bed, Jormungand quickly wrapping around him protectively. He moved over to his own bed afterwards, laying down and staring at the ceiling.

He'd stayed awake late in the night waiting for Harry. He'd almost been asleep by the time Harry was back. He'd had a bad feeling, sure, but this - well, this was so, so much worse than what he'd been expecting. Harry had truly meant every single terrible thing he'd said about himself. He could tell by the blank acceptance in his usually emotive eyes. They were scarily dead, almost. Bright, vibrant green, algae-filled forest pools of pure emotion and magic had been reduced to dull, cold, defeated emeralds. Just lifeless gemstones. What had happened to him, for him to be so certain in his self-depreciation? Blaise shuddered, not sure he really wanted to know what could make somebody feel like that.

He rolled over, deciding this was something to deal with in the morning. Or whenever Harry decided to tell him.


	20. The Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I'm just being plain cruel. I mean, I was before, but even at Hogwarts, Harry doesn't get a break. Ever. Not even on weekends.
> 
> Also Ron is a homophobe. Honestly, I was kinda triggered just writing that part of this. But it's a great way to make him even less likable.

The weekend came, and for once Harry didn't feel the crawling pool of dread that came along with breaks from school. Sure, the day still started with a nightmare waking him at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. Luckily, it wasn't a particularly awful dream, so Harry was able to fall asleep again. He was woken up by Blaise at seven thirty. Blaise was already dressed, and even Draco was in the shower at this point.

The reason for them waking sooner than usual was that they didn't want to miss any of the weekend - they only got two days out of seven to have fun, after all. Harry had agreed with this, and as he was used to getting up at six, seven thirty was more like a lie-in than an early morning.

When he reached over to his bedside table, feeling around for his glasses, he instead felt the familiar handle of his knife. That's right - He had left it in the bathroom last night. Blaise must have put it there. Finding his glasses, he noticed the blood had been cleaned off the knife, too. Getting up, he took a set of clothes to the bathroom.

After showering, careful not to get his bandages wet, he got dressed quickly, joining Draco. They were meeting Pansy, Millie, Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott by the Great Lake, and Blaise had gone ahead of them. Harry hadn't met Daphne, and had only brief conversations with Theodore so far, which lead to him being more nervous about it than he originally would have been. Draco assured him that he'd be fine - they'd love him. Harry had a hard time seeing how anybody could love a disgusting Freak like him. He tried to push those thoughts away, but that awful feeling that crept up on him whenever his mind went back to that dark place was all-consuming. His hands were shaking in sickening terror.

Holding on a little too tightly to Jormungand, he tried to still those thoughts. But those thoughts burned like a raging fire, unstoppable in their fury, determined to burn his mind - burn him - to ash, no, to dust, dirty, insignificant dust, to be blown away by the lightest breeze and forgotten in a heartbeat.

"Harry? Harry, hey, Harry, can you hear me?"

Blinking, Harry was slowly able to bring his mind back into focus. He looked up at Draco, who was very close to his face. Flinching, he stumbled backwards in shock, tripping and landing hard on his back. He gasped softly as the air was stolen from his lungs, cutting off a pained whimper as the lashes on his back opened, the fragile scabs tearing on impact. They had been healing so well, for once.

"Are you okay?!" Draco was reaching out a hand to him. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"I-" Harry tried to catch his breath, gasping a little before finally composing himself enough to speak. "I'm okay. It only h- hurt a little." He lied, hoping the damage to his back wouldn't be so bad that the blood soaked through. There was no way he could explain that one away. He finally reached for Draco's outstretched hand, the other boy pulling him back up to his feet.

"Are you sure you're okay? You just- all of a sudden you stopped walking, and you just stood there, staring at nothing. It was kinda scary. And then you were so out of it you fell over when you saw how close I was to you. I'm sorry about that, by the way." Draco looked sheepish, like it was his fault that Harry was nervous, and paranoid, and just an utterly broken wreck.

"Yeah, y- yeah, I'm- I'm fine. Let's just- let's just go to the lake now, please?"

"That's a good idea, the others are probably getting worried."

They started walking again, Harry forcing his face to stay relaxed, even as every step caused his back to brush painfully against his shirt. He couldn't let Draco know, though. He would hate him. They all would. Of that he was sure. The thought of all that needless, incredible, confusing compassion slipping away filled him with a new kind of fear. He had never really been afraid of losing something- he never had anything to lose. Now he had the fragile beginnings of friendship, he felt as if he was on a tightrope. Let too many of his secrets out and they would be disgusted. Be too secretive, and they would think him cold.

"Hey guys!" Harry looked up from where his eyes had naturally fallen to the ground, seeing Blaise and the other first year Slytherins sitting under a tree by the shore of the lake. "What took you so long?" Blaise continued, "We were starting to think you weren't going to make it."

"Harry fell over, which is why we took so long."

"Oh my gosh, are you alright Harry?" Pansy said unnecessarily loudly, looking on the verge of leaping up and checking him for injuries. She'd find plenty of those, most of which were entirely unrelated to him falling over, Harry couldn't help thinking dryly.

"Stop overreacting, Pans, I'm sure he's fine. Right, Harry?" Blaise came to his rescue, Harry smiling gratefully at him.

"Y- yeah, I'm fine. Just a few bruises, probably. Nothing that needs medical attention." There were definitely more than just a few bruises, but all the same, they didn't need medical attention. Freaks didn't deserve to see a doctor. They'd heal fine on their own, anyway.

"Anyway, Harry, this is Theo and Daphne."

"Draco talks a lot about you, Harry." Daphne said, extending her hand, presumably for Harry to shake.

"O- oh... Uh. Ok." Harry shook her hand, wondering what Draco had said about him. Had he told her that he was a pathetic cry-baby who woke up at six every morning because of his nightmares?

"Don't worry- he has nothing bad to say about you, Harry." She smiled kindly at him, and Harry shyly smiled back. In the background, Pansy and Millie were talking lowly to each other.

"Bet you ten Galleons Harry and Draco will be together by the end of the year," Pansy was saying.

"Bet you twenty they'll be together by Christmas," Millie replied. Harry grinned. He doubted anything would happen between him and Draco, but it was still amusing to watch them.

"Hey, Harry. Daphne is right, you know. Draco is kinda obsessed with you." Theodore was saying. He didn't bother to offer a handshake- he had his nose in a book, appearing to only partially care about the conversations around him. "Also, Pans, Millie, I bet you both fifty that they won't get together by the end of the year." Well, it seemed even with his bored, uninterested disposure, he was indeed listening.

"Deal!" Pansy replied enthusiastically, even as Millicent frowned at the proposition.

"You sure you want to do that, Theo? You're practically throwing away money."

"Or I'm gaining one hundred Galleons by the end of the year."

"Your loss, Theodore." Pansy spoke in a high, sing-song voice.

Harry, at this point, just resigned himself to the madness that was rich Slytherin Purebloods making bets at eleven years old, about the relationships of other eleven-year-olds. He sat down on the grass next to Blaise, biting down on his tongue so hard he almost drew blood, as the sudden movement further aggravated the wounds on his back. Shit, he needed to be more careful. Jormungand slithered out of his robes, hissing softly to make sure he was okay. He reassured his snake that he was fine.

Schooling his face into a near-perfect relaxed mask, he mostly just watched as the others interacted in a careless, comfortable way that made his chest twinge in pain. He knew he could never have something like that, but god, did he wish he could. It was selfish, to imagine another person enjoying themselves so much around something like him. He guessed he was just a selfish creature, as he couldn't help but slip into a beautiful fantasy, where he was cared for, even loved- his mind shut down that thought as soon as it surfaced. Sure, it was just a fantasy, but that was unrealistic on an entirely different level.

•••

They sat there on the grass bank for well over an hour, as the sun continued to creep higher over the horizon, illuminating the castle in gold, and spilling its light down into the lake, making it shimmer and glitter like liquid silver. The brisk summer morning seemed to stretch on forever; dewdrops sparkled like precious gems in the warm light; trees stood still as not a gust of wind disrupted their branches. Even the birds were quiet, preserving the peaceful lull, in which time ceased to exist.

But it seemed even infinity could not hold back the tides of time forever, and eventually the time came to resume the chaos of life.

"We should get back. It's probably almost nine." Draco said, shifting from where he was sat to stretch his muscles, before standing up. A chorus of agreements came from the others- they had been here for ages; it was probably time for breakfast; they were starving; food sounds nice; the food at Hogwarts was delectable, and not something to miss out on.

Harry just smiled, nodding his own agreement. He got up carefully - the wounds had freshly scabbed over, and they felt like they were attached to his shirt - and followed the group as they made their way up to the castle. They continued to chatter as they walked, and Harry found himself grinning at the banter. He didn't laugh, though. He couldn't even remember the last time he had laughed. The idea alone sounded unnatural and strange. Besides, in this week alone, he had already smiled more than he had, probably ever, and it wasn't even Sunday yet.

Just as they were walking down a long corridor towards the lunch hall, a loud shout from behind the group of Slytherins caused them all to turn and look back.

"Hey!" It was Ron Weasley. Harry felt himself stiffen, remembering his only previous encounter with the red-haired boy. This time, it seemed, he had brought backup. Two other Gryffindor boys were standing behind him, although they both looked considerably less enthusiastic. One was a tall boy with dark skin and black hair, who looked like he had been dragged into this unwillingly, and the other was a pale boy with sandy hair and a dark smudge on his cheek. He looked like slightly more of a willing participant.

"What do you want, weasel?" Pansy snarled, scrunching her nose like she found an insect under her shoe.

"None of your business, you filthy snake." He spat at her. Harry was amazed by now quickly the atmosphere had changed. The Slytherins had all grouped closer together, standing in offensive poses. He noticed they were forming something of a shield around him. He wasn't able to assume the same cocky, standoffish pose as the rest of them. As much as he tried to convince himself, his brain screamed at him that that was the exact opposite of what he should do in this situation.

"Wow, are you really protecting him from me? What, is Potter a little baby who can't take care of himself?" Ron sneered. He had seen why they had done. Harry felt shame heating his cheeks. He was right. Harry couldn't do anything on his own.

"Leave Harry alone, Weasley!" Draco stepped forward, looking about ready to draw his wand and fire off hexes at him.

"I knew it! You are a poof. I bet you love getting dick shoved up your ass, Malfoy." Harry could feel his body shaking. He tried to keep himself upright, his knees dangerously close to giving way for lack of oxygen.

"Face it, you're outnumbered seven to three. You should back off before you end up getting hurt." Theo cut in before Daco had a chance to say anything.

"Yeah, you have neither quantity nor quality on your side- give it up already and go back to your no doubt horrendously decorated eyesore that you call a dorm." Daphne continued.

"And we have an actual venomous snake on our side." Millie added, gesturing to Jormungand, who was wrapped around Harry's shoulders with his head raised towards Ron. If ever a snake had glared, it was Jormungand. "Looking at him, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly gained the ability to literally kill you with a look, like a basilisk.

"Ron, come on, man, I don't even know why I agreed to this. We should really just go." The taller Gryffindor boy spoke for the first time.

"Fine! You can fucking leave, then, Dean. You're such a pussy."

"I'm gonna go too, Ron. This was a stupid idea." The other boy spoke in a thick Irish accent, turning to leave with Dean. Ron clenched his fist angrily, growling and muttering under his breath. He marched up towards them, coming as close to Harry as he could before Jormungand hissed and hands reached for wand-holsters.

"Fuck you, you piece of shit. If you were alone I swear to Merlin, I would rip you apart. You should just go die, you fucking faggot. Do us all a favour and go kill yourself." Then he stormed off, without another word.

Dimly, Freak was aware of somebody yelling, being restrained as he fought to escape. He was vaguely aware that it was Draco, being held back by Blaise and Theo. The girls were trying to calm him down. None of that really mattered though. All that really mattered was those words, replaying over and over in his head. White noise filled his ears, and he realised in a detached sort of way that he wasn't breathing properly. Just as he slipped into the nightmare that was one of his memories, replayed like a movie in his head, he heard someone shout his name, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Harry!"


	21. The First Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, this chapter's all over the place... Three different POVs and a flashback... Ha. Any sense of chapter structure (there was none to begin with) just went out the window. Ah well.

_Freak stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was bruised on one side from when Dudley had punched him two days ago. His hair was messy and greasy, falling over his eyes in limp curls. A baggy jumper hung off his skeletal frame, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He clutched a knife in his right hand. Blood dripped from his arms into the bathroom sink._

_Freak was nine years old, and he wanted to die. He hadn't left anything, nothing to explain, no last words, nothing. It's not like anyone would care, anyway. The Dursleys certainly wouldn't, and he doubted anyone from school would care past not wanting to be Dudley's next punching bag._

_His arms trembled as he raised his knife, lining it up on his arm. He was not afraid. His arms shook from exhaustion, from being worked like a slave and given the bare minimum of food, just enough that he didn't starve to death. He didn't cry. He felt nothing but relief as he pressed the sharp knife into his flesh, pulling it from just below his elbow to the inside of his wrist. He swapped hands, repeating the action on his other wrist. He sat on the floor, leaning against the bathtub. He smiled, for the first time in what seemed like forever._

_It was only later, when he woke up to find himself on the sofa with his arms bandaged, still very much alive, that he cried. The instant he realised he wasn't in whatever afterlife awaited him, he felt a deep, aching grief inside his chest. He wailed, loud enough that even Dudley, playing loud music through his headphones upstairs, heard him. He couldn't hear what Petunia was saying, but it didn't matter. He would get a beating for this for sure, but it didn't fucking matter. He was alive, and he so desperately wished he wasn't. That was the only time the Dursleys had ever showed any concern for him, and he could tell Petunia was still more mad than anything._

_Even when Vernon came back, he didn't stop crying. The pain was immense in a way physical injuries could never be, and it hurt far too much for him to push it down, it hurt far too much for him to return to silence. His voice was hoarse, unused to making so much noise, when usually he was as quiet as possible. He didn't resist as he was beaten into the ground, only ceasing to sob when Vernon choked him into unconsciousness._

_•••_

"Harry!" Blaise reached out, grabbing Harry's shoulder and gently lowering him to the ground. The boy had suddenly started to collapse, his legs folding under him without warning. Blaise propped him against the wall, frowning as he began to hyperventilate. He must have fallen unconscious momentarily, only to wake back up and start having a panic attack. Jormungand slithered over hastily, cuddling up to Harry and hissing softly. He pushed lightly against the hand Blaise still had rested on Harry's arm, stopping when he stopped touching him.

Blaise turned around. Draco had stopped yelling, evidently more worried about Harry than he was angry at Ron. He started to walk over. Blaise out up a hand to stop him.

"Stop. He's having a panic attack, touching him will only make it worse. Jormungand is already trying his best to calm him down."

"What can we do?" Daphne asked urgently, biting her lip.

"Not much. We just have to wait it out. He's in a different place in his mind right now." Blaise paused, thinking, trying to figure out how best handle this. "Actually, two of you, go get Professors Snape and McGonagall."

"Why McGonagall?" Millie asked.

"Because she's Ron's head of house." Theo answered. Blaise nodded.

"Right. The rest of us can stay here to make sure Harry's alright."

Pansy and Millie quickly volunteered, running off towards the hall, leaving the others standing in the corridor.

•••

Pansy hadn't known Harry Potter for very long, but she had known him long enough to know that he was kind, and shy, and he had an all round nice personality. Such a sweet person didn't deserve to be yelled at like that. He didn't deserve to be sitting in that corridor, crying because someone else was mean to him.

She and Millie slammed the doors open, running through bewildered crowds of students until they reached the teacher's table. Panting slightly, Pansy gasped out words hurriedly, hoping they would sense her urgency.

"Could we... Could we please speak to Professors Snape and McGonagall?" In the near silence that the hall had descended into, Pansy knew that rumours would spread like wildfire. Better to speak out of the hall than have people gossiping about how Harry had a panic attack.

The two teachers looked at each other, nodding subtly, before getting up in unison. Pansy took that as indication that they were going to follow them.

"Thank you," she breathed, still panting slightly from running the entire way, before promptly turning back down the hall and leading Millie and the Professors towards the doors at a quick pace.

Once outside the hall, with the doors closed behind them, Professor Snape instantly questioned the two.

"What is the meaning of this, Miss Parkinson, Miss Bulstrode?"

"Harry's having a panic attack." Millie answered, her voice calm even though her face betrayed her worry.

"Yeah," Pansy continued on, "Ron Weasley came up and started shouting at him."

"I'm assuming that's the reason you wanted me here, Miss Parkinson?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Yes, Professor. Ron told Harry-" Pansy took a deep breath. "He told him to kill himself." The words hurt just to say. They made her want to throw up, because how could anyone even think that about another person? Sure, Pansy wasn't exactly a saint, but to say something like that, entirely unwarranted? She couldn't imagine doing something like that.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the Head of Gryffindor. Even as a wordless exclamation, Pansy could hear the shock and anger from the woman.

Just as she was about to speak, the four of them rounded the corner into the corridor where Harry, Blaise, Draco, Daphne and Theo had been waiting.

"Mr Weasley can wait, Minerva. Making sure Mr Potter is alright is a higher priority." Professor Snape said as the group of Slytherins came into sight. Professor McGonagall nodded, looking somewhat shaken.

Harry was still leaning against the wall, tears streaking his face. Now, though, he was sniffling quietly, as opposed to the way he had been when they left. Pansy hoped that was a good thing. It still seemed as if he were extremely out of it, his glassy eyes staring off into nowhere. Blaise was sitting cross legged about a metre away from him, while the others stood leaning against the far wall.

Professor Snape walked over to Blaise, crouching down and talking quietly to him. After a few minutes, he straightened up, walking back over to where Professor McGonagall was standing.

"I'm going to stay here with Mr Zabini. I suggest the rest of you go and have breakfast- there's no reason for all of you to be here. Minnie, you should start the search for Mr Weasley."

The students nodded, heading towards the Great Hall, while Professor McGonagall walked off towards the Gryffindor Tower. It was then that Harry began to stir.

•••

Freak heard voices, but they all seemed so far away, as if he were underwater. He blinked a few times, until he could make out more than fuzzy shapes. As his vision cleared, so did his hearing. He listened, trying to determine who was there. His instincts were telling him to start apologising, but he was at school, right? But he had been at school last time he was Freak. His back was throbbing though, so had they put him back with the Dursleys? He hoped not. He could feel his breathing picking up again, and whimpered, biting down hard on his wrist to make sure he wasn't too loud.

"Shit, Harry. Harry- it's okay. You need to stop that, you're hurting yourself." Somewhere in Freaks muddled mind, he vaguely recognised that voice. Loosening his grip on his arm, he scrunched up his nose in thought.

"Blaise?" His voice was quiet, not really believing he could be so lucky that it was Blaise, somebody who hadn't hurt him (yet).

"Yeah, it's me Harry. It's okay."

"W- where-" Harry stopped himself, his survival instincts telling him he couldn't ask a question. He would get beaten it he asked a question. He shivered, pulling his legs closer to his chest.

"We're in a corridor at Hogwarts, Harry, remember? Ron was being a prick, and then you just, kinda-" Harry felt the memories flooding back to him.

"Oh. Y- yeah. Sorry about that." He looked down in shame. He was pathetic, to have reacted so violently to something so small.

"Hey, it's okay. I get it. Certain things just get under your skin, even when everyone else is fine." Looking up, Harry smiled gratefully, feeling brave enough to even make eye contact. Another figure caught his eye behind Blaise, though.

"P- Professor." He stuttered, not expecting there to be anyone else here.

"I trust you're quite alright now, Mr Potter?" The potions master spoke in the same manner he always did, but his face looked somewhat softer than usual. Or perhaps that was just Harry's bad eyesight.

"Yes, thank you." He replied, almost instinctively. Then, as almost an afterthought, "U- um- Professor..?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be okay if I missed breakfast today? I'm really tired after, uh, all that." For a moment, there was nothing but silence, throughout which, Harry felt progressively more foolish. Not only had he asked a stupid question, which made him sound lazy and unappreciative, but he was willingly asking to miss out on food. Food, that he had been denied for so long. That could be taken from him at any moment.

"I suppose, as long as you are up and make sure to eat at lunch time." Harry managed to just barely contain his shock. He was gradually getting more and more used to the unbelievable things that were daily occurrences here.

"Thank you, sir." He said respectfully, and not just out of fear, either. Professor Snape was deserving of respect, for he was so kind to him. So kind to him, when he was little more than filth. It must take a noble man to be that kind to a creature like him, when it would be so easy to just shove him aside, discard him as trash to rot in a squandering pile. In Harry's eyes, Professor Snape, Blaise, Draco and the Slytherins he had met so far were all miles above Vernon and Petunia. Not that he'd ever say such treacherous things.

His walk back to the common room was a painful one; his back screaming with every step; his arm smarting from where he bit it; his mental state so very far from okay. He stumbled into a shower, barely remembering to take his clothes off first, and leaned heavily against the wall. He slid down into a crouch under the hot spray, hugging himself as he began to sob again. A trail of blood ran down the wall behind him. He just felt so drained.


	22. The Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels kinda incomplete, but I don't know what more to add, so I'm just going to leave it at this.

After the first week at Hogwarts, things started going smoother for Harry. He still had nightmares, he still had panic attacks at least once a week, he still cut himself, and he was still terrified of what might happen should anyone find out. But, despite all that, he began to gradually settle into life at the school. He learned his timetable, he gradually figured out how to navigate the twisting corridors of the castle, and he was getting better at pretending he was alright. He didn't want his friends to worry.

The monday after the incident with Ron in the corridor, Professor McGonagall had pulled him, Blaise, Ron, Seamus and Dean out of Defence to speak with her. Dean and Seamus had five points taken each, and were sent back to class. Then began the lengthy discussion about what exactly happened and who said what to whom. It ended with Harry shaking, trying his hardest not to cry, after Ron had started yelling at him again. The red haired boy promptly lost twenty points and was given a week's detention.

The next day, the Gryffindor received a red envelope, which he stared at with trepidation which gradually mounted to pure terror as the letter ripped open of its own accord and an extremely angry woman started yelling at him in a shrill voice. Although the anger was directed towards Ron, Harry couldn't help but flinching as he was reminded of aunt Petunia. He covered his ears, as the entire hall had gone silent, apart from the occasional whisper of muffled giggle. He was shaking when it ended, and had to grip the edge of the table to stop himself from losing it then and there.

Now, although Ron still glared at him, and occasionally called him names, he left him alone for the most part. Harry suspected the twins had something to do with that. They always tended to walk with him in the corridors, and sometimes even took him to classes. They told funny stories of the pranks they had pulled, but a few times Harry glimpsed Ron glaring from afar. He soon realised that they only ever walked with him if Ron was nearby.

Harry had almost perfected his mask now. When he woke up at five in the morning, he simply had a shower, glared at his reflection whilst dark thoughts swirled through his mind, cut up his wrists, and went back to his bed and read until eight like nothing had ever happened. He told the others that he had been homesick for a while, but he had settled in now and he didn't have nightmares anymore. None of them bought the homesickness excuse, least of all Blaise, but they didn't have to. He just needed an alibi.

He still had panic attacks, but Jormungand was getting better and better at helping him through them, and he was able to hide most of them well enough. That was, until the Headmaster called him back to his office.

•••

It was four weeks into the school year, and Harry received another letter. It was delivered by a house elf again, probably even the same one as before. It happened when he was studying in the library, safe in the knowledge that although none of his friends were around, the librarian would prevent anything from happening. At least, that's what he thought.

_**Harry Potter,** _

_**Meet me in my office at lunch tomorrow. Do not bring your snake. Do not tell anyone where you are going. If you don't do exactly as I say, I will tell them all your secret.** _

_**Albus Dumbledore** _

Harry felt his entire body shake with impending panic. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop this one. He quickly shoved the letter in his bag, before curling in on himself, gasping for breath as he sat, pulled into as small of a ball as possible. Jormungand hissed softly, trying his best to calm Harry down, but he could barely even hear him, could barely register the sound. He sobbed silently, feeling his skin crawl. He knew what would happen to him tomorrow. He knew like he knew the sun would rise in the morning. It didn't make it any easier to deal with.

"Hey, are you okay?" An unfamiliar voice shook him back to reality. A Ravenclaw girl with bushy brown hair and oversized front teeth was leaning over him. He pulled his legs closer to his chest as a fresh wave of panic washed over him. She was reaching her hand out towards him. Oh god, she was going to touch him. No, nonono she couldn't, she couldn't, he would lose what control he had left, he would start begging, he couldn't start begging, he couldn't explain that like he could explain his panic attacks and nightmares, begging was different.

"Please," he finally managed to gasp out, heaving for breath, "don't- don't touch me." After what seemed an eternity, she pulled her hand back. He could feel his entire body relax slightly, and he had never been so thankful he managed to actually get words out.

"What can I do to help?" She asked, backing up a step and crouching down. Harry felt some of the threat lessening, and gasped to speak again.

"Can't," he tried he best to form a complete sentence, but found himself interrupted by shuddering breaths. "Have to- ride it out."

They stayed like that for a while, and Harry gradually managed to fight back control. After it was over, he sat there, silent tears running down his face. He felt empty, the fear and disgust settling over him like dust. There was no escape, so it was better to feel as little as possible.

"Are- you, okay now?" He was snapped out of his thoughts by the girl speaking again, her expression so mixed it became unreadable. He got himself back up off the floor, nodding absently, staring at nothing.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright now." Merlin, he even sounded empty. It took a moment to even register his own words, and when he did, he wasn't sure who he was reassuring. "I'm, uh, Harry Potter, by the way."

"I'm not an idiot, I know who you are." She snapped.

"I- I didn't mean it like that, I swear!" He backtracked hurriedly. "It just feels really rude to just assume everyone knows who you are."

"Oh." She seemed a little taken aback by that. Or maybe she wasn't, Harry was in no position to tell at the moment. "Well then, I'm Hermione Granger, it's nice to meet you. I'm glad you're okay, I've never had one, but panic attacks seem horrible." She recovered quickly, although she seemed a little unsure about the last part.

"Nice to meet you, too. They really are, ha, absolutely awful. Panic attacks, that is. I hope you never have to go through one."

"Yeah. If you don't mind me asking-"

"-Please don't. I would rather not explain, and besides, it would probably just send me into another attack."

"Sorry, that was insensitive of me. Um, I was actually over here looking for a potions book, I think you got it first, though..." She gestured towards a thick volume on Harry's table.

"Oh. Y- you can have it, I think I might just go back to my dorm, to calm down."

"Okay, sure. I hope you feel better soon."

"Yeah. Thanks. Bye." Harry picked up his bag and left awkwardly, heading towards the library door.

He made it precisely thirty-four steps from the door before he started hyperventilating again. He knew because he had been trying to focus his thoughts on counting, rather than darker things. He made it another ten before he started to cry. Five more and he was crouched on the ground, sobbing. He was so fucking scared. He didn't want to go to the Headmaster's office tomorrow. He wanted to hide, to stay in his bed and pretend like nothing happened until it was over. He wanted his cupboard. He wanted that comfortable, dark closeness that a bed just couldn't replicate. He wanted long nights spent reading through broken glasses by the light of an old wind up torch. As sick and messed up as it was, his cupboard was safe. He wanted that feeling again.

He was snapped back to reality when he heard footsteps coming towards him. He flicked his eyes up briefly, seeing a flash of blue light and then something orange. His mind put together what information it could, like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. The light was too pale for it to be Fred or George, and the ginger hair left no other option, except-

"Hey, Potter. You crying like a stupid baby again?" Harry heard the soft rustling of fabric, and then more footsteps. He was getting closer.

Harry hugged his legs closer to his chest protectively, sobs still making him shake, although he was careful to silence himself. Jormungand had poked his head out of Harry's shirt collar, flicking his tongue and training his glistening eyes on Ron.

"I can't believe that you, of all people, supposedly defeated You-Know-Who. He probably just saw you and decided that you weren't worth the effort. Honestly, it's ridiculous."

"Don't-" The word slipped out without Harry's permission, a quiet, abject plea.

"What was that?" Ron waited a beat, pausing in mid-stride, before continuing. "Really? You can't even speak up for yourself? Wow, you really are hopeless."

Harry covered his ears, soundless words pouring from his mouth. He was pleading, begging for him to just leave, to just go away. There was no point speaking them out loud. Nobody ever listened anyway.

Ron was still approaching him, not caring how loudly his snake hissed. He was almost within touching distance now. He reached out his hand, not knowing himself what he planned to do.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Harry yelled, not even fully aware of what he was doing. As the words left his mouth, the ball of green light attached to his chest reacted, lashing out and sending Ron flying across the hallway. It formed a web around Harry, an impenetrable shield. Harry noticed none of this, his eyes squeezed tightly closed and his mind battling with itself for control.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me." He continued chanting, out loud now, unaware even of that.

Halfway across the castle, Fred and George felt a massive surge of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't notice until I was finished writing this, but the situations with Hermione and Ron kinda mirror each other. Oh well.


	23. The Realisation

"What was that?" George gasped, as he finally overcame the pressure the powerful magical blast had exerted on his chest .

"I don't know. Let's go find out." Fred responded. He had recovered faster than George, and was already jogging off towards the stairs.

"No, wait!" George tried to grab his twin, but Fred was too far away for him to reach. He sighed in exasperation. Fred was always the impulsive one. Sprinting, he managed to catch up to him just as he reached the stairs. Grabbing his sleeve, he yanked him back.

"What are you doing?" George hissed.

"What're you doing?" Fred countered flatly. At the same moment, the stairs in front of them started to move away.

"We don't know who or what that was! It could be dangerous."

"Didn't feel angry to me. It felt more scared than anything."

"We felt it from across the castle, Fred! I wouldn't be surprised if every student, magic sensitive or not, felt that."

"What if somebody needs help? We won't be able to catch the stairs for much longer." There was an angry edge to Fred's voice. George realised he was just as aware of the danger as he was, he just didn't care quite as much. He nodded, and let go of his arm. They both jumped the widening gap into the stairs at the same time.

Fred slipped, landing with only one foot on the stairs. He started falling backwards, but George caught him. He had always been the more careful one. They both set off running towards where the magical signature was still pulsing. Fred was right - it felt fluttery and nervous, the beat of a racing heart. It felt as if it were coming from near the library, so that's where they headed.

They rounded one last corner, and both of them gasped as they were hit with the full force of the magic, strong enough to make their knees buckle. Taking a moment, they both steadied themselves, surveying the situation. Harry was curled up by the wall, his mouth moving in repeating patterns and his eyes glassy. They heard no noise from his lips. It was possible that he was blocking his voice.

On the other wall, Ron was crumpled like a paper bag, unconscious. They both had a pretty good idea of what went down. Ron was being a bully, Harry felt threatened, Ron went too far, Harry's magic reacted instinctively. Result: Ron getting whacked across the room with some of the most powerful magic they'd felt in a long time. Harry had basically created an impromptu ward surrounding him, probably ready to lash out at any perceived threat.

"I'll look after Harry, you make sure Ron's alright." George broke the silence. Fred nodded, moving over to their little brother and casting rennervate. Although Ron was an absolute swine the majority of the time, he was still part of their family. Ron woke up, gasping, and looked around with wide eyes, gasping and clutching his right forearm.

"Damnnit, I was so hoping you were dead." Fred joked, attempting to lighten the situation, helping Ron to his feet. "You hurt anywhere?" Ron seemed to finally tune in to the situation.

"M- my arm. My arm hurts. It- it really, r- really hurts." Ron whined, fat tears spilling from his eyes. His face had gone as white as a sheet. Fred carefully peeled back his shirt sleeve, but Ron still yelped even at the gentle treatment.

"Shit. I think it's broken."

"Fred, it hurts, it hurts so much."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll be fine."

Whilst Fred was helping Ron, George was cautiously approaching Harry's ward. He reached out his hand, only of pull it back with a hiss as Harry's magic burnt his hand. George tried once more. Once more the magic recoiled, lashing out at him furiously. He knew Harry was jumpy about being touched; him and Fred would sling their arms around his shoulders and he would flinch, cringing at even the friendly gesture. The two of them were more careful now, making sure if they did touch him, he knew it was coming, and that he was okay with it.

Maybe, if he touched the shield with his magic, it wouldn't react the same way? Maybe it would even recognise him. George pulled magic from his core, wrapping it around his hand. He gently brushed his covered fingers against the edge of the ward. It tensed, before eventually allowing the touch. George slowly retracted his magic. A moment's hesitation, but no burning. George inched forwards, slowly walking further into the ward. The magic gradually gave way, allowing him through the layers upon layers of thick protection. He made his way towards the boy curled at the centre, the origin of the shield. The magic stitched itself up behind him. The outside noise was instantly muted.

Reaching Harry's side, George gently touched his shoulder. The magic swirling all around him tensed, moments from forcibly ejecting him from the ward. He snatched back his hand instantly. The air seemed to sway, pressure changing as he removed his hand. But it let him stay. Deciding to once again try covering his skin with magic, he created a thin layer of it covering his entire form. He once again gingerly placed a single finger on Harry's arm. With no reaction, he carefully repositioned himself so he was gently hugging Harry against his chest. He spoke soothing words, trying to calm the boy down. Harry was curling into his hold, unconsciously craving comfort. Both of them were left unaware of the chaos outside.

•••

"He- he broke my arm! He tried to kill me!"

"No he didn't, Ron! Does that look like a person that would willingly attempt murder to you?" Fred gestured towards Harry, still safe inside his ward, with George now embracing him.

"Well, he did! And you're siding with him! I can't believe this."

"He probably just felt threatened - this magic doesn't even seem intentional, he was acting on instinct."

"What, you mean to say that he's eleven and still has accidental magic? That never happens."

"You don't know that. Ron, think logically about this please. I-" A noise cut him off from around the corner. Professor Quirrel appeared, staggering, his breath laboured. His eyes were unfocused, until he suddenly locked his sights on Harry. He shut his eyes, and tilted his head, as if he were listening. When he opened them again, his pupils were blown, irises red and feverish. He took a shuddering step forward, then another. He pressed his hand against the shield, apparently unaware as his flesh began to burn.

"Professer Quirrel. I highly suggest that you move away from Harry." Fred had finally come to his senses, and walked up to the possessed-looking Professor. He grabbed him by the wrist and bodily forced him away from the ward.

"Are you threatening me, boy!?" He hissed, eyes flashing. His skin felt hot to the touch, unnaturally so.

"No. I'm simply recommending the most sensible course of action, unless you want me to tell my head of house that you look like a vampire, and are trying to force your way through a ward created by a boy who is quite obviously trying to defend himself from you, with said ward." Fred spoke in a dangerously icy tone, never once letting go of the near-scalding flesh of the Professor.

"That ward was here before I got here."

"Yes, it was. Well done, you have some form of basic human intelligence. However, Harry started hyperventilating the instance you touched it, even though George had been calming him down." Quirrel snarled, ripping his arm from Fred's grasp.

"Insolent brat! I'll crucio you to Hell and back!"

"I thought school was Hell. You can't send someone somewhere they already are, Professor. Maybe I was wrong- you don't appear to have intelligence levels above that of a rat. Scratch that, that's offensive to rats. Also, where'd your stutter go? I knew you were faking it, but honestly, breaking character like this is just giving it away." Quirrel growled again, and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, McGonagall came rushing round the corner, followed closely by Snape, with Dumbledore not far behind. Quirrel looked in their direction, but Fred kept his eyes on him, although he could see the new arrivals in his peripherals.

"Are you alright, Professor?" He asked innocently, "You look quite possessed."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George: Fred, calm Ron down from what was a potentially life-threatening incident, and make sure he's not injured.
> 
> Fred, waking Ron up from where his body had been _slammed against a wall, **fully knowing**_ Harry could have unintentionally killed him, and trying to _lighten the mood_ : **Damnnit, I was _so hoping_ you were _dead._**


	24. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains another one of Harry's memories. It's pretty bad. You've been warned.

Professor Quirrel's eyes slowly faded back to their natural colour. His face became pale, and Fred thought he might be shaking.

"N- no, no, I- I- I- I'm quite a- alright now. Th- hank you f- fo- for your concern, Mr Wea- Weasley."

"Are ya sure? Maybe you should go see Madam Pomphrey, Professor. You burnt your hand on Harry's ward."

"O- oh! I hadn't n- n- noticed. I wa- as so con- con- on- cerned for M- Mr Potter, I was- as- wasn't thinking of my- my- my- my-"

"Yourself?" Fred asked, getting fed up with the over-exaggerated stutter.

"Ye- es."

"Well, you should probably get it looked at. And check if you're a vampire whilst you're there, why don't you?"

"Mr Weasley! Ho- how r- ru-" Fred put up a hand to stop him.

"Save it for someone who cares. I honestly can't be bothered to wait for five minutes for you to finish one sentence. Off you pop to the hospital wing now, Dracula." Fred grabbed Quirrel by the shoulders, spun him to face the corridor leading to the hospital wing, and gave him a shove. "Go on, the sooner that burn gets treated, the less it'll scar."

Quirrel sputtered indignantly, but let himself be directed out of the area. As soon as he was out of sight, Fred turned to face the other three Professors. Snape was frowning, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance. McGonagall looked faintly bemused, but quickly hid it beneath a firm, disapproving expression. Dumbledore had that disappointed expression he always had whenever he caught him and George doing something they weren't supposed to.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek." Snape all but spat.

"Five points to Gryffindor for ensuring Professor Quirrel had his burn looked at." McGonagall quickly countered. Fred could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Mr Weasley, would you be so kind as to tell us what's going on here?" Dumbledore cut in before Snape had a chance to think of another thing to deduct points for.

"Well, me and George were up across the other side of the castle, working on a new project for the joke shop we plan to start-"

"-Just the relevant bits, please, Weasley." Snape drawled.

"Right, so then we felt this massive surge of magic from near the library. It almost knocked us off our feet. So I started running towards it, because I wanted to know what it was, but George didn't want to, and we had to jump to catch the stairs-"

"-We don't need a novel. And don't think I'll forget you just admitted to jumping onto a moving staircase." Snape spoke again, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Oh, of course. So we got to this corridor. Turns out our idiot little brother-

"-Five points from Gryffindor for name calling."

"Sorry. Turns out Ron was stu- Ron was unwisely making fun of and bullying Harry, who was in the middle of a panic attack. Harry's magic reacted and made a makeshift ward - which is still there by the way, and it'll burn you if you touch it, so maybe don't do that - and accidentally threw Ron across the corridor and into the wall. He broke his arm. So when me and George got here, he figured out how to get through the ward, and-"

"-How?" Dumbledore asked.

"Honestly, no idea. So he did that, whilst I assessed the damage that Ron had, and that's about it."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley. Five points to both you and George for quick thinking." McGonagall said. Snape glared slightly harder.

"Ten points from the both of you for jumping onto a moving staircase."

"Ten points to each of them for looking out for their fellow students."

"Alright, that's enough. House rivalries can wait." Dumbledore once again stopped the two head-of-houses before they went too far. "Fred, my boy, is Harry alright?" His brow crinkled in grandfatherly concern. Fred didn't like how fast his expression changed from neutral to worried.

"Dunno. George is looking after him."

"Perhaps I should try to find a way to deal with the ward."

"That's probably not a good idea. He's already panicked and defensive, breaking his defences is only going to make him panic more." Snape interjected.

"You're right, of course, Severus, my boy. What do you propose we do?"

"The only thing we can do. We wait until he takes down the ward himself."

•••

As it turned out, it took all of an hour for Harry to take down his wards. Lunch had ended, Snape and McGonagall had to go and teach their classes. Fred and George stayed behind, and Dumbledore took Ron to the Hospital wing before coming back. When he finally did lower his wards, he had just one thing to say;

"Can I please go back to my dormitory for the rest of the day, Professor Dumbledore?" He kept his eyes on the ground the whole time. If he was visibly shaking, none of them chose to say anything. As soon as he was told he was allowed, Harry practically bolted back to his dorm, his head never once lifting from where it was lowered to face the floor.

When he finally got there, Harry curled up on his bed and sobbed. He his his face in his pillows, and wailed. After what seemed like forever, his mind decided to remind him of the last bed he had been on. He promptly flung himself off the side, not caring when he bashed his elbow on the ground. He shivered, retching in total disgust. Crawling under the bed, he curled on the cold, hard floor. With the drapes that came down from the bedframe blocking the light, it almost reminded him of his cupboard. That was better. He finally felt his panic properly start to fade. He stayed there long enough to fall asleep. That was a mistake.

•••

_Freak felt nothing but burning pain as the man pounded into him from behind. His arms were tied together behind his back, and his legs were forced apart by a bar tied between his ankles. Vernon had invited his work colleges round for dinner. Petunia, naturally, wasn't home._

_Freak was ten in a month, but his birthday wasn't something to look forward to. It was something to dread. Vernon made doubly sure to be cruel to him on his birthday._

_The man raping him shoved in especially hard, and came with a groan deep inside Freak's ass. What could be worse than this, though? Vernon was sure to find something, as a special treat, on his birthday._

_"Thank me." The man growled, yanking Freak's hair roughly, forcing his head uncomfortably high._

_"T- thank you, s- sir." Freak croaked. His throat was sore from screaming, something he had stopped what felt like hours ago. His hair was released, and his head fell back into the bed._

_"Good slut." He said, arrogant satisfaction evident in his voice. He pulled out, and Freak winced as his abused hole throbbed at the movement. At least all the blood made it easier for the men's dicks to slide, rather than the first time, when he was dry, and he felt that horrible ripping sensation as his anus tore._

_The next man was lining up, and Freak dimly felt a little spark of panic inside himself. He had so hoped that had been the last one. He whimpered softly as he was violated for what could have been the twentieth time that night. There was no point fighting. It just made them hurt him more._

•••

Freak awoke to the sound of his own quiet sobbing. For a terrifying few seconds, he thought he was back in his cupboard. He panicked, until finally he realised he was just under his bed. He crawled out, curling up by the wall. He looked at the time. Seven thirty. He'd been asleep for a long time. The others would be back soon. That was fine. He could wait.

It took all of his willpower not to break down in another attack when he realised he'd have to get back into bed until the others were asleep. He sat up, resting his back against the headboard. There was no way he was laying down tonight.

They were all finally asleep. He got up quietly, grabbing his knife, walking to the bathroom. He sat on the counter next to one of the sinks. He planned to stay here, letting his blood drain into the basin, until the sun began to rise. It's not like he was going to get any sleep, anyway. He watched impassively as the white porcelain was stained red. He didn't know when he began to cry, but soon enough, tear tracks seemed a permanent fixture on his face. He fought a long battle that night. A battle to keep himself from cutting too deep, or too far along an artery. It was a close call. He wasn't so sure if he won or lost, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why Fred's like this now. I'm not complaining. I imagine he had a muggleborn friend that told him about Dracula.
> 
> Also I don't know how Snape and McGonagall are like this. Honestly, most of the time, I just write the first thing that comes to mind. It's worked so far.


	25. The Sixth Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in a while and that this chapter is so short, but I was feeling a little burnt out I guess... And I reached what could be considered a good ending point, that is most definitely not a cliffhanger, I swear...

Morning came, and with it the sickening fear that Harry had been so desperately trying to hold back. He had to fight against every instinct he had just to leave that room. He clung to Jormungand like a lifeline, not telling him what was wrong. He didn't eat breakfast. He couldn't bear the thought of food. It made him feel sick and disgusting and he only wanted to throw up more at the sight of it.

Harry continued to stumble through the day, barely even remembering what day it even was, eyes blank for fear that if he let himself show any emotion, he would break down. He barely spoke, every word halting and trembling as he forced himself not to cry. His friends noticed. Of course they did. He told them he was fine, he was just having an off day. He wasn't technically lying.

Third period was defence, and the customary headache that came along with it made his mind scream in protest, simply unable to deal with this on top of everything. He let out a muffled sob, his shoulders shaking as he began to cry. He forced himself not to make any noise. He just stopped and stood there, lost in the static of his mind.

"Harry..? Are you okay?" Harry dimly recognised Draco's voice. Why was it so damn loud, though? He covered his ears with his hands squeezing his eyes tight shut. He felt so dizzy from the headache. Carefully, he lowered himself down to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest in an attempt to hide.

"Shi-" Draco again. "Harry, can you hear me?" Yes he could fucking hear you Draco, you're practically shouting. For some reason, Harry couldn't say those words. Couldn't even open his mouth to attempt it. It just seemed like a really scary thing to do. Like he'd get hurt if he did. He just nodded silently.

"Do you want to go back to our dorm?" Harry nodded again, quickly, urgently. If he didn't answer fast enough he'd probably assume he didn't want to.

"Okay. I'll talk to Professor Quirrel." The noise of clothes shifting with movement, then footsteps getting quieter. Moments seemed like hours, and then like nothing at all when Draco returned. As if he'd only just left, a lifetime ago.

"Alright, Professor Quirrel says you can skip class today, Harry. Do you want me to walk back to our common room with you?" Harry opened his eyes. He was curled up under one of the desks near the classroom door. How did he even get here? He blinked, trying to remember what he'd been asked. Oh yeah, did he want Draco to go with him? No. Absolutely not.

"Harry?" Harry shook his head.

"I'll be okay." He spoke quietly, and surprisingly clearly.

"Alright. I'll... I'll see you at lunch." Harry just nodded in agreement, standing up and practically bolting. His mind was whirring, and his wrists called out for pain.

•••

He wasn't going to make it this time. It was a losing battle. He knew that, even as he continued to let blood drain from the deep, fresh cuts along his forearm. Maybe that wasn't so bad. He wouldn't have to go through whatever the Headmaster had planned for him, at least. He looked out the bathroom door to see the clock on the wall. Half an hour was left until lunch. Half an hour to write his goodbyes, and his apologies.

And so he wrote.

•••

"Hey Blaise." Draco called to his friend.

"Yeah?" He replied, glancing over his shoulder to the blond sitting behind him.

"Do you think Harry'll be alright? I'm getting this bad feeling, I don't know why. Maybe because of how he was acting."

"Yeah... I've been feeling the same. I'll go and check on him when class ends, okay?"

"Okay."

•••

It was time. Class was ending, and Harry took the knife to his arm, pointed downwards from his elbow to his wrist. The note he had written was sitting by the sinks, the sheets of paper neatly stacked - Harry had had a lot to say. He took a deep breath. For the first time, he felt a jerking feeling in his gut for what he was about to do. He guessed he had just hoped that he could finally be happy. He had always been so stupid. A Freak like him didn't deserve happiness.

And just like that, he pulled the blade sharply downwards, feeling sick that he ever though he deserved to live. That he had selfishly assumed that his friends even wanted him around. None of them were even going to read his stupid note. Of course they weren't, why would they waste the time on a freakish, disgusting creature like him, let alone one that was already dead. They'd probably just dump his body in the lake. There's no point in having a funeral no one was going to go to.

Finally switching hands, his arm shaking with the screaming pain coursing through it, he managed to steady himself enough to do the other arm. He carelessly dumped the knife next to the note, slumping to the ground with a soft thump. He leaned against the counter, feeling deja vu, and how many times had he been in this position, exactly? His dizzy mind tried to count, the blood loss making one thought blur into another. Well, when he was nine was the first, he tried to hang himself when he was ten, and tried again to slit his wrists twice the same year, he threw himself off a building at one point but miraculously walked away with only a broken leg to show for it, and damn had Vernon made him pay for that one.

Oddly, he found himself smiling. Everything just seemed so far away, he could detach himself so easily from everything, in these moments before death. And that was coming any minute now. He knew from past experience that he'd fall unconscious soon, but unlike the other times, he wouldn't wake up to his aunt glaring at him and his uncle yelling abuse at him until he fell asleep again. This time, he wouldn't wake up at all. With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please never, ever trust me in regards to this story.
> 
> Also I feel like this chapter is vague enough to warrant explanation (like the others weren't vague). So sixth refers to the number of times Harry has tried to kill himself, obviously, and judgement is like Fate deciding whether or not to let him die, what with him being a prophecy child and all. I wonder what She'll choose this time...


	26. The Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I finally wrote another character! Thanks for putting up with my complete and utter lack of an update schedule.

"Harry! Shit! Nonononono, wake up! Harry, you have to wake up! Please, please wake up!" Blaise could feel himself trembling. He had known it was bad, but he hadn't thought- didn't think he would- fuck, Harry tried to kill himself. He still might die. Blaise grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. Nothing. He bit his lip.

"Sorry Harry." He slapped him across the cheek, hard, desperate to get him to wake up. That earned him a reaction, and as heart-wrenching as it was, he was just so happy he was awake. But goddamn, he almost broke down from how Harry acted in those moments.

Harry's bleary, fearful eyes looked up at him, unfocused. When he spoke, it was full of so much pain.

"N- no... No, no, nonono, n- not again, please! Not again, ple- e- ease, please just- just let me d- die this time, please, please it hurts. I- it hurts so much." He was sobbing by the end, cut off by a strangled kind of yelp, still apparently unaware of where he was.

"Harry, it's ok. It's me, it's Blaise." Blaise slowly reached out a hand to touch Harry's shoulder, only for the other boy to flinch and curl in on himself.

"Sorry - sorry - I'm sorry - I didn't - I don't - " Harry's speaking was broken up by gasps as he tried to breathe, until he finally managed to get a whole sentence out. "Please don't hurt me, I'll be good I promise - " Blaise felt pangs of pain splinter through him at that. He'd so hoped he'd been wrong.

"Harry - oh shit, Harry, I'm sorry, it's just me. It's just me, you're okay. I need you to look at me, Harry, can you do that for me?" The other boy was staring resolutely at the ground with wide eyes, trembling all over and beginning to shake his head no. Blaise slowly put a hand under his chin, tilting his head up. Only when Harry had dazedly looked at his face for a full two seconds did his eyes light up in recognition, followed closely by horror.

"Blaise?" He asked weakly, not really a question. It was more like he hoped it wasn't him. "Why - Why are you here?"

"I came to check on you, and I'm really fucking glad I did. You're gonna bleed out if you're left like this much longer."

"...Isn't that the point?" Harry spoke quietly, but Blaise heard every word. It made his heart break, and he wanted desperately to just hold Harry and tell him everything was alright, but there wasn't time for that. He shook his head firmly. He knew Harry would probably hate him for this, but he wasn't going to just give up on him that easily. Even if it did mean breaking his trust.

"Not gonna let you do that, Harry." He said resolutely, taking off his jumper and ripping it down the middle with a cutting spell. He grabbed one of Harry's wrists and started wrapping half of the torn jumper around it firmly. Harry struggled as best he could, with how weak he was from blood loss, and Blaise hated the look of panic written all over his face when he couldn't escape.

"Blaise! No, please, let me go! Let me go, let me go, don't make me stay alive, please, I can't - can't - I don't - don't want - don't want to live - please -" he started hyperventilating again as he struggled, panic clouding his every thought. He couldn't stay alive, not this time, the Headmaster - no, don't think, stop thinking, stop fucking thinking -

Just then, Blaise heard the tell tale hiss of Harry's snake coming up behind them. That could be really helpful, if Jormungand could hold Harry's wrists to make sure he didn't do anything while Blaise got Draco to go and get Professor Snape, so that he could give Harry blood replenishing potions and heal him. Blaise knew basic healing, but nothing that could fix this, and there was no way he would make Harry go to the healers wing. He would hate that.

"Jormungand! You can understand me, right?" Blaise knew the snake was magical, and felt relived when the serpent nodded in assent. "Thank fuck. I need you to hold Harry's wrists, so that my jumper stays tight on them, and so that Harry can't do anything else, while I go and get someone to help him, okay?" Jormungand nodded vigorously, slithering over to perform the task. Once he had secured himself, Blaise stood up from where he was crouched. Harry was pleading for him to just let him die, and Blaise felt sick, that Harry was so desperate to kill himself that he was begging for Blaise to let him do it.

"I'm only gonna get Draco and Snape, okay Harry? No one else, I promise." He started walking briskly towards the door, even as Harry's cries grew ever more frantic. He forced himself to tune it out. He had to save him, which meant keeping his cool, even if he knew how hurt Harry would be that he betrayed his trust.

•••

It was probably a fair reaction to be shocked and afraid when Blaise strode into the common room with a determined and yet completely terrified look on his face and blood that he didn't even seem to notice covering his hands and spattered on his shirt. Probably a completely normal response to be fucking petrified when he looked Draco dead in the eye and breathlessly told him

"I need you to get Snape. Tell him to bring blood replenishers. It's Harry."

Definitely a logical reaction to set off running as fast as he could towards Professor Snape's office, even though he looked like an idiotic muggle. It didn't stop his brain from being confused over literally everything that'd just happened, even as he reached the Professor's door and knocked sharply. Now he just had to hope he'd be there. He normally was - a lot of pupils came here to talk to him, so he was usually here if anyone wanted to talk. After a few dreadful seconds, the door was answered. Professor Snape looked surprised to see him, but Draco wasted no time with relaying what Blaise had told him.

"Blaise said to come and get you. He said to bring blood repleneshers. Something happened to Harry, I think it's urgent." Snape, to his credit, stood there in shock for only a second, before turning swiftly back into his office and returning a moment later with potions in his hands. Draco just managed to keep himself running as they swiftly made their way back to the dorms. Nothing could have prepared Draco for what awaited them.

•••

They entered the dorm room to see Blaise crouched just inside the bathroom, talking softly to Harry. Harry wouldn't be consoled, though, and was sobbing, choking out what sounded like pleas. He was curled in the corner of the bathroom opposite the door, with Jormungand wrapped around his arms, and blood dripping from his arms despite them being firmly wrapped in what was now unidentifiable fabric. Draco felt lost, even as Professor Snape quickly started forward, moving to the distressed boy. Harry's begging rose in crescendo, he curled as far into the corner as he could, and Draco could hear the words now. He didn't really understand what he was hearing, but it made him feel almost dizzy from how wrong it sounded.

"Nonononono please don't touch me, please - please just let me die - I can't - can't - can't live this time, please don't make me l- live this time, I want it to end -" Draco forced his eyes away. His chest felt tight and painful, and his mind was just trying to make sense of it all. It felt so wrong. He couldn't understand. How could someone want to- to die? What could possibly make you beg for death like that?

"Don't heal it entirely, Harry told me he needs his scars." What? Why was Blaise telling Snape not to prevent scarring? Wait, does that mean Harry had other scars that Blaise knew about? Scars that Harry... Put there himself?

"I understand. I'll heal it enough that the blood will clot quickly." Did Snape just agree? Was there something going on here that he was missing?

"Blaise?" His voice sounded dry and entirely too loud. "What's -" He didn't even know how to word his question. He felt so helpless, and so hollow, like his heart just gave up and stopped beating.

"Oh, Dray, Shit, I'm sorry, this is probably really confusing to you." Blaise smiled softly at him, and Draco felt just like a clueless child, standing vacant in the middle of the dorm. "I promise you, I'll explain later. But now really isn't the time." How could Blaise be so calm? Harry almost died, and he was smiling at him, talking so casually to him.

Snape continued to heal Harry, finally coaxing him into drinking the blood replenishing potion he'd brought. Blaise continued to coo softly to him, trying to calm him down even as he begged that they let him die. Draco stood in the middle of the room, helplessly watching, unable to do anything and unable to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also just realised it's been exactly a year since I first posted this fic! So this is the first anniversary of me starting to write fan fiction!


	27. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, all the words with lines through them have been properly scribbled out, and covered entirely in a layer of ink which makes them impossible to read. I just don't have any other super clear way to indicate crossed out words.

It had been a couple of hours since Harry tried to kill himself. Blaise had yet to talk to Draco about it, but he'd decided to leave it for the day. He was still trying to work through some of his own emotions. It didn't help that he'd found a stack of five sheets of paper, written on in Harry's messy script, made worse by countless scribbled out words and even paragraphs. He had picked it up when Draco had been getting Snape. He hadn't wanted them to see this. He still hadn't read it. He's been sitting in the bathroom for at least an hour now, just staring at the first page. It was now or never - he knew Harry wouldn't let anybody read it now that he was still alive, and he didn't was anybody else getting their hands on it. Swallowing thickly, Blaise closed his eyes for a moment, trying to prepare himself.

_**If you're reading this, I'm finally dead. I say finally because I've tried before. You're probably thinking, 'what reason would Harry Potter have to want to kill himself?' ~~Well for starters, my uncle beats me up and rapes me~~  I have my reasons. My home life isn't as pleasant as everyone seems to think. I wasn't abused, ~~You can't abuse a Freak~~  exactly, but my aunt and uncle ~~hate~~  don't really like me.** _

_**~~I'm just so fucking scared right now, Dumbledore is going to force me to do things and I don't want to, but if I don't, he'll tell everyone how much of a slut I am and how my uncle fucks me and how I'm a good little whore when Vernon has guests round and everyone will hate me and I WANT OUT.~~ ** _

_**I guess that everything just kind of caught up to me. I've had more time to think since I got here, ~~and it helps that I'm not starving to death~~  and I guess I've been over thinking things. If you really want to know why I killed myself, just look at my body. It'll explain everything, but on the off chance that this doesn't work, I'm not going to write about it. I'm just going to say my goodbyes.** _

_**Blaise: thank you for trying to help me through this, and I'm sorry that I still did this despite that. You can probably understand better than the others, ~~but you still have no idea the things I've gone through~~  and I appreciate your friendship. You don't know how much it means to me. Goodbye.** _

Baise closed his eyes. He had known, of course, that Harry had meant to do this, he didn't just slip and cut too deep by mistake, but to have written proof- Blaise didn't want to think about what might have happened, if he got there too late. He wasn't going to read the rest. That wasn't meant for him to read. He folded up the pages, standing up slowly. He wanted to see Harry. There were things in here that he'd scribbled out purposefully, things that he'd made sure we're unreadable, had covered entirely with ink, and Blaise wanted to know why. These weren't just spelling mistakes.

Sighing, he folded up the papers, putting them all in his pocket. Getting to his feet, he decided it was time to talk to Harry. He walked out of the dorm, headed for Professor Snape's rooms, where Harry had eventually been moved. No one had discussed what would happen now, since Harry was obviously suicidal, but Blaise was going to suggest getting him and Draco put on suicide watch. There was no other way to be sure that Harry wasn't going to kill himself at the next opportunity.

•••

Harry was sitting in bed, Jormungand hissing frantically and Harry meeting him with silence. The instance Blaise walked in, green eyes snapped to him with murderous intent boiling behind them. The pure rage contained in those bright orbs stopped Blaise in his tracks.

"What are you doing here?" Harry snapped, his voice almost trembling from his violent mood. Blaise found himself speechless; he had never seen Harry like this before. "It's bad enough that you stopped me, now you're here looking to, what, comfort me? Fat lot of good that'll do now. I could have used comforting after the first time I tried this, but now? Now I just was to die. I did then, but not like this. Maybe someone could have stopped me from trying, back then, but I had no one."

"Harry, I don't know what happened to make you want to kill yourself, but I get it, ok?" A dark chuckle cut him off.

"You get it, huh? You want me to tell you what happened? What happened was I was locked in a cupboard for most of my childhood. Do you know what it's like to be locked in a tiny, dark room for a week, with no food and no water, in the middle of winter when everyone else is out enjoying new Christmas presents? Do you get that? And what's more, I was beaten every. Single. Day by my uncle who thought that maybe if he hit me hard enough, he could beat the freakishness right out of me. Of course, I couldn't go to the hospital when he hit too hard and broke a bone - freaks don't deserve medical attention."

"Harry! Harry, stop it! I get it, I have no idea what you went through, just stop, please."

"He never stopped, no matter how nicely I begged. It just went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and-" Harry's voice started to tremble more and more as he spoke, and he curled up into himself, his eyes wide, visions of fear playing through them. "-on, and on, and on, and on-" he was almost whispering by the end, and Blaise was about to stop him, when he cried out.

"It just keeps going, Blaise! It just keeps going, it won't stop, nothing will stop it and I just want everything to end! Why did you have to stop me? Why did you have to 'save' me? Why couldn't you just let me die, finally?"

"I stopped you because I care about you, Harry." Although he spoke softly, his voice sounded way too loud.

"If you cared about me, you would have let me die. Maybe then I'd finally go somewhere I could be happy."

"It can get better-"

"-No. It's never going to get better. Not as long as I'm alive."

"Harry, please. I don't want you to die. I don't want you gone. I know you probably went through hell, compared to me, but you're out now. We can all help you."

"You don't get it at all. I'm still in hell. And I have no hope of getting away. I'm never getting out, never gonna be happy here-" Harry had curled into himself so that his head was resting between his knees and his chest, his arms held protectively over his skull. He cut himself off with an involuntary whine as he began to hyperventilate. Blaise sat on the end of the bed furthest from Harry, watching silently as Jormungand calmed him down.

•••

"I'm sorry I spoke to you like that, I didn't mean to raise my voice, I'm just so frustrated that I'm still alive."

"It's fine, Harry. Don't worry about it."

"You won't tell anyone about this, right Blaise?"

"Let's make a deal - I won't tell anyone about this, or the suicide note I found in the bathroom, if you promise that you won't try to kill yourself again."

"You read that?"

"Only up to the part written for me."

"Alright." Harry sighed heavily, finally looking back at Blaise. "It's a deal."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blaise is trying to keep Harry's secrets because he knows from experience that it's fucking terrifying for people to see or know things like that about you. He understands the mind-numbing terror that Harry experiences at the mere thought. He's trying his best to be a good friend without betraying Harry's trust more than he already has.


	28. The Newspaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that this is now part of a series. That's because I started a collection of one-shots that are like alternate timelines within this alternate universe. That's kinda confusing but oh well. I'm not that good at explaining things.
> 
> Also, I put way too much effort into this fic. I just worked out that Harry has been at Hogwarts for five weeks and six days (based on times I give in three different chapters, this one included) and that it's currently Friday the 11th of October, since the Hogwarts school term starts on September the 1st. I looked up a calendar from 1991, the year Harry went into first year, to find out the day. Why did I put so much effort into this???

It had been a week and five days since Harry tried to kill himself. Almost two weeks, and his friends were still far more careful around him than before, even Blaise, who claimed to have understood. They would shoot him glances, worried looks when they thought his attention was elsewhere. They didn't really think he was that stupid, right?

Draco, especially, had been a bit of a pain. Him and Blaise had been put on suicide watch, and one of them was always following behind him. Blaise he could stand, he would be the same then as when they were all hanging out together, but Draco was a different story. He was constantly hovering, fretting over Harry as if he could drop dead any moment, as if he wouldn't show a sign of some sort first. It was driving Harry insane.

His only salvation was the twins. Blaise and Draco would agree to leave him if he was with the pranksters, knowing they wouldn't let him out of sight. Harry didn't mind, with them. They didn't act like he was some precious china doll, didn't tiptoe around subjects because they thought he might be uncomfortable. They didn't even comment when he started itching himself hard enough that he drew blood, didn't mention it the times he would chew on his own hands until there were abrasions covering his palms. They seemed to have come to an agreement with each other that they simply wouldn't mention it. Harry couldn't put into words how much he appreciated it.

•••

It had been a week and five days since Harry tried to kill himself, and the worst had finally come to pass. His hands shook in an odd mixture of sorrow and embarrassment and fear. The newspaper he grasped in too-tight hand had an awful title printed obnoxiously large on the front page.

 

_**Harry Potter: The Boy-Who-Wants-To-Die?** _

  
_**My dear readers, as I was in an exclusive interview with Albus Dumbledore, the renowned headmaster of Hogwarts (as I'm sure you all know) I**_ _ **couldn't help but to ask him about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived; who defeated You-Know-Who as a baby, and who disappeared from the public eye for the last ten years. I expected stories of how great he was, how he lives up to his parent's name. What I got was so very far from what I, and everyone, expected.**_

**"Harry is a troubled boy,"** _**Dumbledore said, and that was enough to shock me,** _ **"I'm not sure if the fame is getting to him, or if he has nightmares about the night his parents died, but he's not exactly what you would expect."**

_**What do you mean, I ask, intrigued. We've all had our own ideas over who the young Potter is over the years, of course, but most of us imagine a heroic Gryffindor, proudly in the house of his parents, confident and powerful.** _

**"Well, for starters, he's a Slytherin."** _**Dumbledore confirms the rumour I'm sure you've all heard by now, that the Boy-Who-Lived is a snake, but to hear the headmaster of the school day it adds much needed validity to the claim.** _

**"He's very quiet, and not nearly as confident as you'd expect, but he does well enough in his studies."** _**Dumbledore has a look on his face, one of sadness regret. What else, I prompt him. The answer he gave me, dear readers, may have you needing to sit down.** _

**"He tried to commit suicide two weeks ago."** _**He looks forlorn, lost, like he doesn't know what to do. I reach out to comfort him, and he continues speaking.** _ **"I'm not sure what pushed him to this, but some of his friends luckily managed to find him before it was too late. I don't know what I would have done if he died."**

_**I, myself, am still trying to process that our saviour has been pushed to such extremes. Was it out of loneliness? A need for attention? Was there something else he was trying to achieve?** _

 

Harry pushed the paper away from himself, feeling sick. He was shaking so much, and he could feel the eyes of every single person in the hall on him. He couldn't believe that Dumbledore had told everybody, and like this. Harry felt heaving sobs well up inside him. He abruptly stood up, walking away as quickly as he could, as the hall broke out into talking behind him.

•••

George was pissed. He was fuming, jaw set in an angry line as all around him, people gossiped about weather or not Harry tried to kill himself. Like it was their business. Fred reached out for him, but George was already on his feet and climbing onto the table, wandlessly casting sonorus as he did so. "Everyone shut up!" He shouted. Fred had given up on trying to stop him at this point, and just climbed up onto the table beside him, ready to say his piece. "Did none of you read the paper-" Fred began,  
"-Or is it just that none of you care?"  
"You should all be ashamed of yourselves-"  
"-For talking and gossiping about this-"  
"-Like it's nothing!"  
"Like it was just another one of Rita's-"  
"-Garbage articles filled with lies."  
"Do you have no decency?"  
"And you-" Fred pointed at Dumbledore,  
"-You told that Skeeter person-"  
"-Knowing the trash kind of articles she writes-"  
"-Knowing full well that she sensationalises everything."  
"You're a teacher-"  
"-You're supposed to protect students-"  
"-Not tell a newspaper about how they tried to kill themselves."  
"Shame on you."

The both of them climbed down from the table. Students from Slytherin and most of Hufflepuff started yelling at the staff table, backing them up. The Ravenclaws joined in quickly, with some of Gryffindor looking a little less enthusiastic in their outrage. While the students started rioting, the twins quickly left to look for Harry.

They could feel the anguish in his magic as they approached the Slytherin common room. Luckily for them, they were pranksters, and it was vital to their trade that they knew the passwords to all the common rooms. So naturally, they broke in without expending any effort. Following the trail of his wild, emotional magic spikes, they found his dorm. He was in the bathroom, fresh blood on the knife he brandished in his right hand. Preoccupied as he was, he didn't notice them come in.

"Hey, Harry." Fred called softly, and Harry's eyes shot up towards them. He was crying.

"F- Fred? George? Ho- how did you get here?"

"We have our ways." George smirked.

"Please don't s- stop me, I promise I- I- I'm not going to k- kill myself, I just need to hurt."

"It's okay, Harry, we're not going to stop you." Fred said. They were taking it in turns to speak still, but on a sentence basis, rather than their normal faster switches. The figured it'd be easier on Harry right now.

"Yeah, we know it's not healthy, but that's just how you cope.  
"Just so long as you are coping."

Harry sobbed, taking a few steps forwards and basically collapsing into Fred's arms. The twin caught him, hugging him and slowly lowering both of them to the ground. George joined in on the hug, and they both just held Harry quietly as he cried. Glancing at Fred, George wore a look that said he wanted to talk about this later. Fred nodded slightly; he wanted to as well.

"Thank you, s- so much," Harry looked like he wanted to say something else, but then seemed to decide against it.

"Hey, it's ok." George said, grinning easily, despite the situation. He would wear his best light hearted mask if it made Harry feel better.  
"You know, we would swap Ron for you any day."  
"He could probably use a good while in your position, see how he likes it." Harry smiled slightly, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was broken, and tired, and hopeless.

"Please never joke about that." He said quietly, like he truly would never wish whatever torture he went through on another. And there was no doubt in either of the twins minds that what he went through was torture of some kind, no matter what others might choose to believe.

"Ok Harry-"  
"-We won't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore is gonna get soooooo much shit for this. But apparently telling the whole world that Harry is suicidal is better than upholding his reputation. Interesting priorities you got there, you old goat bastard.
> 
> Also, the twins are the best friends anyone could ask for, like seriously, they're awesome and I want friends like that.


	29. The Flying Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pretty short, but I had fun with it, and Harry actually feels happy for once so I decided to end it with him happy and not ruin it because he needs all the happiness he can get.

Harry was being watched. Ever since that Friday, he could feel their eyes on him. They would turn away and then whisper after he had walked past. He hated it. He hated all the sympathetic looks, all the speculative gossip. As if they knew anything about him.

The twins were, as always, an absolute blessing. They hung around Harry almost constantly, hovering protectively, glaring at anyone who got too close. They even convinced Blaise and Draco that he didn't need them to watch him all the time, and Harry thought they might have explained the situation to Draco a little more because he had backed off considerably. Harry could practically feel the dust settling; his friends calming down and stopping being weird when things they thought might make him uncomfortable came up; the rest of the school seemingly writing it off as nothing, and even Dumbledore officially apologising in the newspaper. Harry didn't really want to accept it.

•••

It was Thursday, and Harry was on his way to his first flying lesson. The instructor had been off sick for the first part of the year, so only now did they finally get to fly. A few Gryffindors were already standing out in the pitch as the Slytherins arrived. Ron sneered at him, and Harry turned away. He could feel the mocking glares from Ron's group, and he absolutely hated it. After waiting around for a few minutes, the flying instructor arrived.

Madam Hooch was a sharp looking woman. She had sharp golden eyes, sharply pointed grey hair, and walked quickly. She looked almost like a bird, Harry supposed. Despite her pointed features, she did not look cruel. Quite the opposite, actually. Although she seemed strict from the get go, there was a hint of mirth playing in her expression. She did everything with purpose, from introducing herself to instructing them on how to get the broom from the floor to your hand.

"Now stick your right hand over the broom and say "Up!" nice and firmly." She called from the front of the two rows the students had formed.

Harry's broom leaped up into his hand the instant he uttered the word, but it seemed like some people were having trouble. Draco got it first time too, but Blaise's was rolling about on the floor and Theo didn't really look like he was trying, his broom totally stationary. Finally, when everyone had their broom in their hand - those who couldn't call it picked it up - they were ready to begin.

Madam Hooch showed everyone how to properly mount a broom - apparently Draco had been doing it wrong for years. Everyone was eventually seated so that they wouldn't slide off the end, and Madam Hooch walked back to the front.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. Everyone ready? Good. Three - two - one -"

She blew the whistle, and Harry kicked off, half expecting nothing to happen. Then he was in the air. He was flying, and somehow it was like a massive weight had been taken off his shoulders. He was flying, and nobody could hurt him up here, because they would never catch him.

"Mr Potter, get down from there!" Harry looked down, and suddenly noticed that he was far above the pitch. He felt no fear, though. Just unbridled joy because he felt so free, like a bird, and wouldn't flying off into forever be so easy?

"Mr Potter!" Harry finally tilted forwards, and felt his heart sink the closer he got to the ground. He landed gently, feeling his body shake with adrenaline, and a pure kind of happiness he didn't think he'd ever felt before. But he was shaking with overwhelming loss, too. Like being in the air was where he was supposed to be, and somebody had clipped his wings. Tears ran down his face, his expression blank.

"Mr Potter, I told you to stay close to the ground! I don't want another accident, Hufflepuff was bad enough. Are you alright?" Harry wiped a sleeve across his face as Madam Hooch approached. He smiled shyly as she gripped his shoulders in worry.

"I'm okay. I just really didn't want to come down. It feels so free up there." Her face changed to one of understanding. He guessed she probably felt the same way when she flew.

•••

The lesson continued less eventfully after that. They got accustomed to riding the brooms, and were split into groups of more confident fliers, and those that needed more help. Harry was with Draco, flying gradually higher in lazy circles, just feeling the wind against his face. He didn't think he'd ever get used to this.

It was when Madam Hooch had turned away from them to help a Gryffindor girl with her balance that it happened. Ron and his lackeys glided up behind Harry from below, so that he wouldn't see them. It was only when they were almost on him that Draco yelled

"Harry, look out!" Harry whipped his head around, seeing the Irish Gryffindor boy seconds before his boot came into contact with his head. Harry ducked just in time, shooting away to the left on his broom. A curse and some words Harry didn't quite hear had him darting away, spiralling upwards so far and so fast that the old broom he was on started to shake. He was fuelled purely by instinct, but he eventually stopped when the shaking got so bad he had to grip tightly just to keep his seat. Ron and the others came in pursuit. Having but a moment to think of a plan, Harry's first thought was to let them get in close, then backflip over them and dive as fast as he could. It was crazy, but it was all he had.

When they were about a metre away, Harry jolted into action. He pulled up hard, gripping tightly with his legs as he went entirely upside down for a few dizzying seconds. But then he was away, rocketing towards the earth like a falcon. Everyone was watching him now, but for once, he didn't care. Glancing behind him, he saw the three Gryffindors coming after him. The ground was getting closer and closer. He didn't pull up. Pansy was yelling frantically. He didn't pull up. The others slowed to a stop as he saw in incredible detail the ground, only a dozen metres below him. Finally, with just a few precious feet to spare, he pulled out of his dive, turning sideways into crazy corkscrews. He kept going, seconds passing in the blink of an eye until he finally slowed down, turning and looking down at the others hovering low over the quidditch pitch. He felt more alive than he ever had before. It was exhilarating. He felt like shouting, whooping in excitement for all the world to hear, but, as was always the case, his throat seized up at the thought. If there was ever a time that he wished that he could speak, as loudly as he wanted, without freezing in fear, it was then.


End file.
